Desert Sun, Dead Planet
by Someone Else Took My Name
Summary: Follow the course of various survivors after they crash onto a hostile world of rolling deserts and eternal mountains. However, as they will soon learn, the desert, is but a mirage. As the days unwind, the true nature of this remote planet is revealed. ON HIATUS.
1. Fighters

**Author's note**

**So, hello and thanks for clicking onto my story. This story follows, as the description states, multiple perspectives of various characters. There are currently four different characters, possibly more in the future, and dedicates individual chapters (usually) to their stories.**

**Follow one story or all stories, thanks, and please do enjoy...**

* * *

"Kinetic barriers at 20%" The monotone, female voice of the ship's AI blared.

"Shut up Ira. I'm... Doing everything... I can..."

"As you wish."

The large, three man fighter flew directly into the gaping maw of the Geth ship, firing plasma bolts as it did. A bright, piercing light erupted from the Geth cannon's titanic bore, nearly burning out the pilot's eyes.

"FUCKING GOD IN HEAVEN THAT'S BRIGHT!" He swerved the ship out of the way, both to avoid the massive plasma beam that came forth from the cannon, and to preserve his own eyes. Directly behind him, a Geth ship trained it's cannons on his fighter, aimed, and fired a volley.

"Dave! C'mon, let's get outta here, the shields ain't gonna hold up!" The intercom blared.

"NO! We can't... Abandon the Alliance..."

"They can fend for themselves, what can we do!?"

"Just hold on, we're almost-"

The Eezo core, already under severe stress from the constant fire, exploded, sending a heavy but small corona of energy outward. The shockwave shook Dave, but killed the shield operator.

"No! John, get up!" The core reactivated, and the shields began their slow, treacherous restore. But John wasn't so lucky... He was dead. With a mental sigh, Dave turned his attention back to the pilot's seat.

"Dave! What the hell was that?" Janis, the weapons operator, nearly shouted with hysteria.

"John's dead... The Eezo core just... Exploded." Remorse and terror were striving for dominance in Dave's voice.

"We need to leave! Pull us outta here!"

"I'm sorry... I can't do that. The alliance needs me. Just focus on those guns, we're hitting that dropship.

The fighter took a nosedive for the exposed ship, and rained heavy, hot plasma down on it. The drop ship pulled away, and fired a plasma torpedo dead ahead. The huge, ionized bolt flew directly into the fighter, and exploded with incredible force. The fighter's shields blew out, and the fighter took a direct, deadly hit. The fighter began to spin rapidly out of control, leaving a blue trail of plasma as it did.

"Janis, get to the escape pod. We're in range of a planet."

"What?! No! You gotta come with me, there's only one pod!"

"Go, Janis. This is turning into a suicide mission."

"No!"

Another rain of plasma bolts hit the flying ship, each one exploding with unparallelled force. The armor plating was completely burned out, the fighter was enclosed in fire, and several critical systems were down. It didn't matter.

"Janis, you're going to die out here if you don't leave. Go. That's an order."

"... Yes sir." Janis pushed open her hatch, and stepped out into the fighter's main deck. She was a tall, pale figure. Thin, but certainly not in an attractive way. Food had been extremely scarce out in deep space, and they had rationed accordingly. This was the first contact they had made in a long time. Janis stepped through the cockpit door, shot one final, agonized glance at Dave, and stepped through the door.

She never saw him again.

The fighter's main pod ejected, leaving Dave alone to his death. He plummeted faster and faster forward, and slammed into the ship with intense force. The Geth ship dipped under the weight of the impact, and it's reactor went completely dark. The fighter was almost completely shredded, and the vehicle was very badly damaged. However, it was recognizable as a fighter, and what's more, the pilot survived.

Dave expected to be dead, or dying. He was neither. He was on the floor, his seat's safety straps had snapped completely. He was still wearing his light combat armor, and wasn't too badly injured.

His armor had burned out in places, and he had a deep cut on his thigh, but the medi-gel eased the pain some. He looked under the pilot's dashboard, and found his heavy pistol. The M-3 "Predator" Heavy Pistol, a deadly weapon. He grabbed it and peered over his dashboard. He was in the reactor room of a Geth ship, and it seemed that he had narrowly avoided destroying the reactor, and possibly destroying the ship, and had instead slammed into the mass of wires and batteries nearby. Dave stepped out of the ruined fighter, and into the dark room. He pulled on his helmet and activated the low-light visor. He stepped through the room, breathing in a mix of nitrogen and oxygen. He approached the door, and reached for the handles. The door pulled open on it's own, and he stared face-to-face with a full crew of Geth soldiers. Silently, wordlessly, they opened fire with their plasma weapons. Hot plasma tore through his kinetic barriers, and melted directly through his armor plating. He screamed, and fell to the ground. His pistol clattered to the ground, forgotten. He died the same way.

Forgotten.

* * *

While one pilot was slain, another was saved.

The fighter flew on, it's shields absorbing any ionized plasma that went it's way. It left a black plume of smoke behind it as it flew, but it went on. It was a small thing, fit for a one-man crew, and with the same space as a sedan's interior. The pilot screamed in both glory and fear, as his cannons fired hot bolts of plasma at the large Geth frigate. He like to think he was making a difference in the battle. The frigate opened fire with it's auto-cannons, shredding his hull apart.

His face was open with unmistakable, massive glee. His fighter kept hitting the frigate, before turning around and facing a large dropship. His fighter was completely wrecked, and he had pushed the small craft to it's absolute limits. He was unaware of his possible death, only the destruction of these damn Geth. He fired plasma bolts directly into the drop ship's hull, but each and every shot was blocked by the kinetic barrier. He fired endlessly, but ultimately doing nothing. The drop ship charged it's main gun, and fired. The heavy beam of plasma slammed directly into his hull. The right wing blew off, and the main fuselage collapsed. The plasma battery exploded, enveloping the entire craft in holy blue fire.

"FUCK YEAH! THIS IS FRIGGIN AWESOME!" He shouted, moments before his craft would be completely enveloped in fire. His helmet assembled itself onto his head, a feature of his armor's carapace, and he was launched directly into the hostile environment of space. The small fighter had barely ejected it's pilot before exploding. The holy blue glow of plasma greeted his eyes, before it turned to the orange of fire. The drop ship seemed unfazed by the explosion.

The drop ship trained one of it's secondary cannons on his figure, it's targeting systems struggling to keep up with the rapidly flying, small target. Nevertheless, it didn't take long before it's targeting systems sought him out. A volley of plasma fired away, all shots trained on his figure. One of these bolts slammed directly into him, tearing into his kinetic barrier. Another followed, and another. All three shots found their way into the target. He screamed, not in pain, but in terror. His kinetic barrier exploded outward, and his armor seared. Fortunately, he himself was not injured, and his armor was not breached by the volley of plasma.

He would not be so lucky if he was hit again.

The drop ship began to charge it's secondary cannon again, intent on finishing the job. Just then, a large craft flew by, likely a Heavy Fighter. The craft fired two plasma bolts, massive and extremely powerful. Each missile slammed directly into the drop ship's armored hull, tearing the craft open. Several Geth were ejected from the gaping hole before the drop ship returned fire. The main beam opened fire, slamming full on into the Heavy Fighter's underbelly. The kinetic barrier held steady, and took a beating, but survived the attack, and the Heavy Fighter hit back. The auto-cannon fired back, shredding the Geth drop ship into oblivion. Finally, the ship exploded under the strain, sending rubble, plasma, and Geth troopers throughout space. The pilot watched in silent awe, as the drop ship exploded, and the Heavy Fighter came back.

Somehow, impossibly, the Heavy Fighter's pilot had spotted the man, floating in empty space. It was the main reason why she had ever used her two plasma missiles. She couldn't just leave an Alliance pilot to die, right? Wordlessly, she flipped on the tractor beam and pulled in the pilot, intent on putting him to work as soon as he pulled in.

_I'm saved! I'm friggin saved!_ His thoughts blared happily, as the tractor beam caught him in it's pull. He was pulled silently into the craft's cargo hold. As he was beamed up, he felt all traces of panic melt away, his damaged armor was of no importance to him... He was going to make it. He was going to live.

The battle raged on, and Alliance ships skirmished with the Geth. They had been fighting for little under an hour, and it had taken it's toll. Geth weapons were very effective, and it wouldn't be long before they were forced to fall back. The main cruiser kept firing it's main guns, hitting the Geth frigate with everything it could possibly manage. Geth drop ships flew to and fro, their crew compartments replaced with ammunition and auto-loaders. The kinetic barriers had held up so far, and there was no hull damage just yet.

"Charge the interplanetary cannon. Target the Geth server room, and fire." The young, inexperienced officer shouted.

"Sir! We're givin' her all she's got, another shot will blow the reactors!" Another person called back.

"I don't care! FIRE!" He saw an opportunity to destroy the Geth frigate, the monster that had put up such a huge fight. The frigate's kinetic barriers were down- Finally, and this might be the only chance to do some damage. A minute passed, and the huge cannon charged it's heavy, ionized plasma. The weapon was massive, absolutely _gargantuan_ and would wreak havoc on the frigate's weak hull. The lights went dark, and everything went silent.

The enemy took the advantage. The barriers were down for fifteen seconds, but that was enough. The Geth frigate charged it's main weapon, a super-massive cannon that could charge and fire within seconds.

The Geth cannon fired, sending a massive beam of plasma forward. The beam slammed into the Alliance cruiser, targeted directly at the Starboard Weapons Bay. The armor was hit and tore through almost completely. Every last drop of stored plasma, every ion battery, every single weapon on board exploded simultaneously. A huge chunk of the cruiser exploded, and a huge shock wave pulsed throughout the ship.

Slowly, systematically, the rest of the ship exploded. Sending chunks of metal flying outward, before one final nuclear blast destroyed everything remaining. Like a supernova, the exploding cruiser sent a beautiful shockwave of plasma, metal, and electricity outward. Many of the fighters and bombers managed to avoid the shockwave, the larger crafts, were not so lucky. Anything and everything that was not fast enough was, plain and simple, destroyed.

The Geth frigate was hit by the shockwave, and heavily too. That interplanetary cannon had held massive amounts of energy, enough to completely drain the reactors, and the corona of energy it produced was massive. Absolutely massive. The Frigate, it's shields still down, caved in simultaneously and exploded. Another shockwave pulsed outward, rendering all that remained of the space, dead.

A swarm of fighters and scouts flew away from the explosions, and the crew watched as the Geth frigate exploded. Another pulse of electricity pulsed out, this one even larger than the one produced by the cruiser. A huge corona of blue energy flew out, extremely fast and volatile. Almost simultaneously, the engines on that swarm of fighters, scouts, and Geth drop ships, all went dark. The shields died, the reactors blew out, and the weapons went inactive. Each ship became equal, every one fell, and no one resisted the gravitational pull of the massive planet under them.

The ships began their desperate fall, each one near the other, in one huge storm of metal.

* * *

**How was it? Like it? Hate it? Wish I would drop dead off the face of the Earth and stop writing? Please, criticize and flame away! (But keep it profanity-free)**


	2. Hard Landing

"Fucking asshole." He muttered as he started the charging sequence for the cannon. The bastard wouldn't listen, and the ship would pay for it. He pulled the lever, and listened to the slow hum of electricity as the cannon charged. Sure enough, the power went out shortly after the cannon reached full charge.

_Fuckin' told ya._ He thought, as the lights went out.

Silently, he slipped away from the weapons bay. Something silent, possibly the intuition that had saved his life over the course of countless battles, told him to. He walked away nervously, and then sprinted away. A few saw him run by, but no one asked him what was wrong, they just went toward their jobs.

A few moments later, the Starboard weapons bay exploded, sending a corona of energy flying outward. The corona flew outward and hit him full in the back, knocking his shields out and scalding his skin. Once again, he thanked the intuition that had made him put on a shield generator this morning.

"Jeff! You okay?!" Another soldier, clad in full battle armor, likely a security crewman.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little burnt. Thank god for this shield generator." Jeff pointed to the small device strapped around his chest.

"Great. C'mon. We need to get off this ship." The security guard talked on.

"What? Whaddya talkin abo-"

"Stop talking and listen! We need to leave, that huge cannon up there, it's charged full of plasma and ready to blow. Come on!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'." Jeff got to his feet, and sprinted forward, alongside the security guard. It wasn't long before they heard the report of a second explosion, and a third. The long, metal, and blue hallways stretched on, with only occasional embellishments to break the monotony. An explosion blasted away a decent section of the wall before them, staggering the both of them.

"Fuck. This thing's coming down around our ears!" The security guard shouted.

"Yeah, let's go before it comes down on our head." Jeff muttered, and ran on.

Another huge explosion rang out, destroying a good deal of the cruiser. Jeff remotely contacted the ship's bridge. Nothing. His omnitool glowed a bright orange, blending perfectly with the host of fires that rapidly spread throughout the corridor.

It wasn't much longer before they reached the monorail line, an extensive system that could take them to their goals. The security guard attempted to start it, but it was completely dead. Jeff remotely checked the energy levels, and without anyone to stop him, he soon hacked into the system. He rerouted the remaining power to the monorail, and it worked. The train came to life, and the two boarded. The sleek bullet train shot out, and got them to their goals.

"You know, if there's a bump in the tracks, we die." Jeff, with his usual pessimism, remarked.

"If we don't get to those pods in time, we'll die." The guard responded.

The air began to take an acrid and smoky after-taste, and it wasn't long before they began coughing.

"Masks on. Let's _not_ choke out before we reach those pods." The guard muttered.

They left the monorail with a running start, and Jeff noticed the complete lack of people. An explosion rang out under their feet, blowing their shields and knocking them off their feet. Jeff slammed into the floor, and coughed a hot spray of blood. Otherwise, he was uninjured. The guard look relatively unfazed, but had a hard time getting back up. Wordlessly, they continued their mad dash, stumbling at the increasingly rapid explosions, and coughing through the smoke. It seemed that the masks weren't entirely effective. A massive, almost deafening explosion rang out above them, huge and massive. Another corona of plasma, this one much larger than the first, tore through the ship. It reduced the entire ship to rubble within seconds.

Jeff soon lost his footing, and went floating as the gravitational control went dead. The only thing keeping his blood in a liquid state was the shield surrounding him. Slowly, he felt a metal hand grip his arm, and hold it in a vise. His vision, previously narrowed and thin, widened. He noticed the guard, his boots firing a blue pulse of electricity. He propelled himself forward using his boots, and pushed the both of them forward.

It wasn't long before they reached the escape pods. Jeff's look of hopefulness became grim and troubled. No other pods had left the ship. The security guard forced him into the pod, and then himself. He slammed the button, and grunted when it didn't work.

"Dammit, it's jammed. We need to get to another pod." His respirator was struggling now, possibly damaged during one of the explosions.

"I'll get it loose, hand me that arc pistol."

"God speed... God speed to you." He breathed out, his breathing clearly labored. It seemed that one of his air tanks had ruptured.

Without another word, Jeff exited the pod, slammed it shut, and cut the metallic link that held the pod in place. It launched, and flew down toward the planet below.

_Now to save my own ass._

An explosion rang out, damaging his shielding, but luckily not breaching it. The whole ship would be enveloped in plasma soon, and he had to leave _now._ That planetary cannon hadn't stopped exploding, and likely wouldn't until each and every plasma battery blew up. Shock waves of energy shot out, reducing most of the ship to rubble. It was utterly destroyed, and completely unrecognizable. He settled himself into a pod, and pushed the release button. A moment of palpable silence passed by, because if this one was also jammed, then chances were that the rest were also jammed. Slowly, the heavy machinery clicked together, and the release let go. The pod flew outward, flying away from the massive cruiser. The cruiser that had kept him housed for the last three years. He watched wordlessly, as the ship exploded in a blue shroud of fire and plasma.

_This is the end... Isn't it?_ The thought, alone, quiet, and dissonant, kept him company through his escape.

* * *

Her head felt like a pot of molten lead. Her arms were crossed with cuts, her armor badly seared, and her legs were stiff and hurt. Her escape pod had kept her alive, but just barely. It seemed that the emergency propulsion system had failed. She looked over, and noted the devastation surrounding her. The pod was completely wrecked, it's hull a twisted, macabre display of the Alliance's failures. Though she and the pod were both disfigured and wounded, she had the distinction of still being alive.

Hopefully it would stay that way.

The pod had crashed down onto what seemed the planet's northern pole, a hot and sandy mess of desert. She glanced down at her hip, where her holster was still strapped to her thigh. She still had per Sub-machine gun, and she still had a chance. She looked around the rest of the ruins, hoping for some medi-gel, or maybe even some clean cloth. Alas, nothing. She forced himself out of the pod, and breathed an atmosphere consisting almost completely of nitrogen. 94.7%, actually. Less than five percent was actual oxygen. She could subside off this odd mix for a short while, but she would need an oxygen tank soon.

She looked around the mess of desert, and chose a direction. She just needed to keep on walking. She ignored her rapid breathing, and her running blood. Pain spiked through her mind, and she began to feel the symptoms of oxygen deprivation. Yet, she kept it away from her thoughts, and kept moving. The terrain was brown and sandy, monotonous. It was endless dunes and endless sandy drifts, with the occasional crop of stone. She marched onward, with her breath labored and heavy. She had barely walked half a mile, yet she felt as if she had ran twenty times that.

She had walked for about two more hours before seeing something other than desert. Faintly, in the distance, she could see a dark plume of smoke drifting upwards.

_Another crashed pod from that battle? Not impossible._ Janis thought, letting a tiny ray of hope shimmer. She suppressed her urge to run, knowing it could only make things worse, and marched toward the smoke. She walked for another hour, panting and pounding at her chest for oxygen, before finally cresting the hill. There it was, the source of the smoke. It wasn't a crashed pod, but a crashed Geth drop ship. This one was once a white shade, but was now smoldering black and badly damaged. From the ruins, she could see a squadron of Geth soldiers working on the ruins. Perhaps they were attempting to repair it?

_You know it's not so innocent._

No, it wasn't. They seemed to be reassembling themselves, and creating new Geth out of the dead parts. These things were efficient, it seemed. They'd have an army by sundown if this kept up.

_Maybe I shouldn't attack them... They can't be too bad of a threat, right?_ Janis weighed her options. A Geth drop ship, no need for oxygen, small crew compartments, possible weapons. She didn't _want_ to fight them, but she really didn't have a choice. Silently, she steeled her resolve, and aimed her pistol. She fired a volley of shots at the closely packed squad, and silently rejoiced at the sound of shots hitting the shields. They turned, and fired a hot rain of plasma on her. Four shots hit her, searing her flesh and armor. She screamed in pain, and fell back into the hot sand. Janis rolled to the side as one of the Geth fired another volley at her figure, and fired back. She ejected her thermal clip, inserted her last one, and began to fire again.

A heavy bolt of plasma seared into her chest plate, melting away at the armor and reducing it to little more than a hunk of burned out metal. She fired back, and took the nearest one down. The others responded violently, sending heavy volleys of plasma at her. She dove into cover, near the downed Geth soldier. Suddenly, the air became significantly hotter, and Janis felt flames licking at her hair. She peered over her cover, and saw the Geth Pyro, spraying napalm at her. She fired the last dozen rounds at the synthetic robot, piercing it's shields and punching right through the gas tank. The next shot ignited the fuel supply.

The Geth creature seemed to panic, and sprinted backwards before exploding in a rain of shrapnel and fire. The two nearby Geth were blown back by the force of the blast, and Janis felt the extreme force, even from behind cover. She was stuck behind a rock, but hopefully not for long. She picked up a nearby Plasma Rifle, and awkwardly fired at the robotic beings before her. The weapon was not suited to human anatomy, but served quite efficiently nonetheless. A few more moments passed by, and the Geth soldiers were dead. She herself had sustained bad wounds, but (with grim and forced humor) noted that they had cauterized themselves.

She picked over the ruins of the drop ship, hoping for something, anything useful. Eventually, she found it. In one of the crew compartments, there seemed to be a slumped corpse in the corner. A turian, badly wounded. Though his weapon and armor was useless, the healing module was not. She picked up a canister of medi-gel, and treated her wounds with a shaking and burnt hand.

She sighed with relief, and continued to administer the soothing medicine, slowly and steadily recovering. She took the last remaining medi-gel canister from the turian's healing module, a stack of thermal clips, and shoved them into a Geth storage bin. She looked around, and tied a couple heavy rifle straps to the bin's handles. There, she had what looked like a metal backpack. She looked more further into the Geth ships, but the rest was just server rooms and reactors. With a sigh, she stepped out of the ship and moved on back to the desert.

Janis left the drop ship behind, taking a mental note to _not_ get into any more fights. She had come way too close today, and she didn't want to get any closer.

An hour of labored walking passed by before she came across the next downed ship. It looked like the remnant of an Alliance scout. Really, it was little more than a burned out chunk of metal. The ruins no longer burned, but were still smoldering lightly. Janis breathed in a sigh, and stepped into the ruins. The interior of the scout was small, in fact, it was absolutely tiny. It consisted of a large seat, a flight dashboard, and a tiny bit of space behind the seat. It was just a cockpit, really. Cradled in the seat, was the burned corpse of an Alliance pilot. He was little more than a mess of burnt flesh, and smoldering metal.

_Poor bastard._ She thought remorsefully, before turning from the ruin.

The sun would be setting soon, and cover would need to be found.

Who knew what happened after dark?


	3. Firefight

**So, still looking for a title. Taking suggestions, and please, make them at least seem reasonable. Thanks, and enjoy.**

* * *

Night fell over the desert. Desolation and darkness fought back the receding sun, revealing a landscape of harsh and horrible beauty. The light of three moons fell over the landscape, a mixture of dim orange and luminescent white light spilled onto the sands. In the deep indigo sky, a heavy blue-green aurora danced delicately in the sky, held against a backdrop of stars. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of stars hung in the sky, creating bright pinpoints of light amidst the deep night. No fire in sight, no beams in range. Yet, amidst the darkness, there was light. The wind was cold and harsh, with a dash of sand. Swirling eddies flew to and fro, and the dunes became mountains under the harsh light. Truly, the nighttime desert was beautiful.

Amid the desert, was a ruined pile of wreckage. The wreckage was burnt out and destroyed, but still maintained a cylindrical shape. Inside, a faint light glowed from under the main control terminal. Seats lined the walls, each one with safety buckles and straps galore. Though the pod was ruined and desolate, it's battery still lived on. The small hum of static filled the air, and then the voice of a human being.

"This is Private First Class Jeffrey Farris, my pod has crash-landed onto the northern pole of a terrestrial planet. Uh... Planet Tungel of Herschel system. Located in the Kepler Verge. I am _not_ alone, an entire fleet of Alliance fighters and frigates went down as well, all on different parts of the planet. Geth have also touched down, send a cruiser, please. Transmission out." A machine blared.

After ten minutes, the machine repeated the message. The transmission repeated, it's message flying deep through space. The pod itself was stripped bare and devoid of life or resources. Anyone here had long since abandoned it.

* * *

Jeff wandered through the desert aimlessly. He was hurt, but not critically.

_Thank god for small favors._ He thought wistfully.

The pod should have survived the crash, they were made to. But something, possibly an electrical pulse had knocked out the emergency propulsion systems. The pod had survived the crash, but just barely. The crash had nearly destroyed both him and itself.

He had sustained several first, and second degree burns, as well as a single third degree burn. Much of his engineering jump suit had been scorched away, and he had suffered numerous cuts on his body. His chest was badly hurt, with several shallow cuts and one deep cut running across his chest. Planted in the center of his chest was a deep, hexagonal burn mark. His own shield generator had done that. The device that saved his life aboard the cruiser, nearly took it away when he crashed. It had exploded when it landed, spraying hot plasma all over him.

_At least I didn't get blinded._ He thought solemnly.

His body had survived the strain, at the very least. He had crashed onto the planet at high noon, and had been knocked unconscious from the hit. He should have only been out for a minute or so, but instead he had remained out and cold for five earth hours. It was likely the shock from his injuries that kept him down and out. Either ways, eight hours was plenty of time to bleed out, but once again, he had been spared the fate. When he awoke, the air was bitter and thin, and he had trouble breathing. At first there was more pain, spread through his body, as it went through the first stage of oxygen deprivation. Then it and he adapted, he stopped running, and slowed to a weak stroll.

Here he was now, enjoying the desert cold, and watching for any signs of life. He walked on, slowly trekking past the rising dunes and drifts of sand.

_I wonder what happened to that security guard. Did he survive planet-fall? I hope he did, that guy probably saved my life. He'll probably keep saving it, this arc pistol is the only weapon I've got._

He kept walking, intent on doing nothing but breathing and walking. He didn't look at the landscape, just his own feet. If he looked at anything else, he might be overtaken by the sheer hopelessness of it all. He just kept on walking.

So he walked, he walked under the beautiful dark sky, of the desert planet.

Another hour passed before he heard voices. They were faint and indecipherable at first, something not unlike the slight hum of the wind. Soon however, they rose.

"...The distress signal isn't..."

"...I don't care..."

"...Where are the..."

The voices suddenly stopped. The scenery seemed to become completely silent, the wind stopped blowing, the voices stopped talking, and the faint hum of machinery faded. Then there was light. A bright beam of light shot outward, heavy and blinding in it's luminescence. Jeff slowly approached, arc pistol raised. He got into view a minute after.

People, there were about seven of them. Yes, they were people, but not all of them were alive. There were three Alliance crewmen, one Human, two Asari, and they were all dead. Behind the corpses, an alliance fighter was buried in the sand. About a hundred feet away, was a collection of speed bikes, crates, and a single trailer. There were four others, two hauling crates back to the trailer, and two others searching the downed fighter. Though it was hard to see them, the distinct figure of a Krogan could be seen. Jeff took his emergency kit into his hands, a standard thing that was often found in downed escape pods, and took out his low-light visor.

_I wish there was more medi-gel in that container, there was only just enough to take care of this burn._ Jeff slowly traced the hexagonal burn implanted in his chest.

Jeff slipped on his low-light visor and watched the crowd. There were five of them, in fact. Two were outside, likely stripping the metal right off the fighter's hull, and one was inside, searching the ruins. He took a quick count.

_One Krogan, two Vorcha, two Batarians._ Though he might have been able to take on the Vorcha and Batarians, but the Krogan was far too powerful to be brought down by the Arc pistol. However, the Vorcha, naturally uncomfortable around other species, were separated from the group. They were hauling the crates, and could hopefully be dispatched quickly and quietly.

_You don't loot the fucking Alliance, you Blood-Pack assholes._ Jeff thought as he crept toward the Vorcha. They seemed to be talking to each other as they walked.

"I don't like it here, air too thin."

The other seemed to grunt in agreement.

Jeff didn't let them talk anymore, their voices were far too irritating. He crept behind the first, prayed to God that it would work, and fired a pulse of electricity into the Vorcha's back. The fragile creature shook horribly before falling to the ground. The other Vorcha shouted and pounced on Jeff, it's reflexes spot on.

_I'm screwed._

The Vorcha's fist, scaly and sharp slammed into Jeff's face. Blood poured from the open wound, and Jeff grunted in pain. He fought back, slamming his fists repeatedly into the Vorcha. The creature, though fragile against gunfire, was strong and tough. It fought back, with intense strength. It's open hand swept horizontally across his chest, leaving three deep, bloody trails of torn flesh. Jeff bit back a scream, and brought up his knee into the Vorcha's groin. Though painful to humans, the Vorcha seemed pretty much unaffected. It balled up both of it's fists, temporarily releasing it's hold on Jeff's right shoulder, and slammed them down.

Jeff felt something snapped under the intense pressure of the blow, but he would not die today, not to a fucking Vorcha. The Vorcha no longer had it's terrible grip on his arm. He took advantage of it. He picked up his Arc pistol and jammed it into the Vorcha's side. He fired. The vorcha convulsed with pain and flopped onto the ground. It nearly screamed, but Jeff wouldn't allow it, he got to his feet and stomped on the Vorcha's skull. Repeatedly. Even in it's last extremity, it would not die. It grabbed Jeff's leg and threw him off balance, and tried to go for the gun. Jeff backed up and fired the Arc pistol again, sending several thousand volts into the Vorcha's weakened body. It died during the following convulsion, fell to the ground, and simply stopped moving.

_That was too fucking close._ Jeff thought, tracing the new wounds that the monstrous being had left for him. Somehow, the others hadn't heard the fight, and luckily too. That Krogan looked like he might enjoy getting involved. Jeff looked down at the newly made corpse, and took the Tempest Sub-machine gun that had been strapped to it's thigh. He looked over at the array of speed bikes, and decided that he couldn't let them live. Not after what they'd done to the Alliance soldiers over there.

Jeff picked up the SMG in his hands, and slowly crept towards the Krogan. He had made the mistake of seperating himself from the group to strip the other side of the ship. Jeff stalked behind the monstrous being, gun in hand. Finally, he reached a thick boulder and crouched behind it. One eye on the target, he took position and aimed his gun.

_One chance, I better do this carefully._ Jeff thought as he brought the gun's sight into alignment with the Krogan.

Sweat ran down his forehead in thin rivulets, thoughts of _wha__t if _ran through his head. He pushed them aside, doubt would make things much worse. He slowly depressed the trigger, steeling his resolve. Finally, he pulled the trigger.

A torrent of rounds tore out of the barrel, each report as loud and piercing as a grenade's. The Krogan roared in pain and surprise, and whipped around. In it's hands was a heavy Claymore shotgun.

_One shot from that thing'll turn me into swiss fucking cheese._

Jeff kept his finger on the trigger, fully intent to drown the bastard in titanium if he had to. The Krogan screamed, and fired the shotgun. Jeff, moments before the Claymore went off like a rocket, ducked down. Barely, literally by a split second, he was saved. A spray of titanium pellets flew over his head, and he got back up to continue firing. The two Batarians were now on the scene as well. They fired their own rifles, and tried to keep Jeff pinned down. A round tore through Jeff's arm, and another punched into his chest, but he kept on fighting. Warm blood spilled down his chest, trickling, running, and then pouring out of him.

Jeff coughed a thick spray of blood before ejecting his thermal clip. A spray of projectiles struck the rock, rapidly reducing even this scant cover to rubble. Jeff looked around, and rolled to another nearby outcropping. He pulled out his Arc pistol, and fired a bright bolt of electricity at one of the Batarians. Another spray of projectiles hit him, two in his left leg, one in his arm, and another chipped the side of his chest. Pain raced it's way through his body, reducing all conscious thought to red fury. He fired another bolt of electricity at the same target, then aimed at the other Batarian. With another pull of the trigger, he brought his second-to-last target to his knees in pain.

The Krogan had an opportunity, his target had exposed himself. He took the advantage, and pulled the trigger. Thirty different particles flew out of the Claymore's smoking barrel, each of them bearing the mark of death. Jeff was thrown back by the force of these particles, and fell into the cold sand. Blood coursed down his body, literally pouring out of him. His chest had caved in under the weight of the slugs, and he was coughing rivers of blood. He took his arc pistol, and threw it at his enemy.

The Arc pistol contained an extremely dense mix of electrified plasma in it's battery, enough electricity to bring down three rhinos. It hit the ground with intense force, and exploded. A dense wave of electricity overtook the Krogan, shocking him out of his mind and knocking him unconscious. Hot plasma corroded the Krogan's armor, and burned at it's plated skin. The Claymore dropped from it's hands, and it fell to the ground. The Krogan was an extremely powerful and terrifying creature, but it had it's limits.

Jeff got to his feet, stumbling and staggering. The adrenaline masked the pain, but his organs were failing rapidly. He stumbled forward, picked up the Claymore, and jammed it into the Krogan's mouth. He stumbled backward and sidestepped the gun. He nestled his finger on the trigger, careful to pull it back when he pulled the trigger. His body tensed and out of the direction in case the shotgun flew back, he readied his finger, and pulled.

The report was loud, massive, in fact, it was completely _deafening _up close. He pulled his finger back with little more than a millisecond to spare as the shotgun flew backward into the sand. The Krogan's skull exploded in a rain of red mush, and he felt a grim satisfaction. Jeff then stumbled back, not bothering to wipe the massive stream of blood pouring out of his lower lip, and fell to the ground.

_I die for the Alliance..._

Darkness fell over his eyes, and he let out a final spray of blood before he let it take him.

"Alliance... Until... I... Die..." The dim light faded into darkness, and he saw no more.


	4. Desert Riders

Plasma flew in every direction, tearing away at the scant cover that remained. The synthetic, robotic sounds of Geth were predominant as they stormed the freshly downed pod. For a brief moment, the gunfire ceased as the Geth reloaded their weapons... Then the silence was broken yet again. Hot, heavy plasma rained down on the downed escape pod, rapidly reducing it's resilient hull to mere rubble.

John Stein, the former security guard aboard the SSV Zaron, was sealed inside this metallic coffin. He sat on the floor, gun ready, as he listened to the sound of plasma searing into the pod. He debated his choices.

_If I poke my damn head out, it's probably gonna fly into the sand. If I stay, this thing's gonna fall apart. What the hell do I do?_

Another heavy bolt of plasma hit the pod, shaking the tiny interior. John glanced at his rifle, the M-8 Avenger, and thought briefly of fighting back.

"No... No... I'll die. I need help." He muttered.

He wondered just how the Geth had found him so quickly...

_They arrived only a few seconds after I did. They didn't try to make contact or anything, they just... Attacked. Damn bastards have been here for most of five minutes._

"I can't do this alone... I wish I had some damn help." He muttered, repeating his previous wishes. A moment later, another heavy bolt of plasma hit the pod. The metal gave in with a heavy wrenching noise. He didn't like that noise. Suddenly, with a brief stroke of genius, he remembered that he _could_ get help.

He rushed over to the pod's terminal, overjoyed to see that it had not been destroyed by either the crash of the Geth plasma bolts. He activated it.

NO POWER DETECTED

…

…

EMERGENCY POWER ACTIVATED.

John breathed a sigh of relief, and switched on the Distress Signal. He recorded a message, the pod still being attacked.

"This is Corporal John Stein of the SSV Zaron, my cruiser has been downed and I am under attack. Please send help!"

A few moments later, another plasma grenade hit the pod, caving in another section of the wall. Chances were that no one would hear the message, but it was good to hope. Enemy forces would get through the pod in a matter of seconds now, and he would be destroyed if they caught him like this. John switched on the pod's emergency kinetic barriers, and got to work.

He began by opening the pod's emergency kit, a large thing that contained many amenities. He took out a blowtorch and began to melt a section of the pod's hull out. The hull had several layers of metal, and could probably survive losing a few of em'. He melted a section out and laid it up, and then melded it to the wall. He did the same to other parts of the wall, quickly building a barricade.

A minute passed before the kinetic barrier exploded, sending an energy shock wave at both the Geth attackers, and the pod itself. Just as well too, because he had just ran out of fuel for his blowtorch.

_Bring it on you robotic bastards._ He thought, letting the familiar sensation of adrenaline take him.

A moment later, the pod's main door burst open, and a flood of plasma came with it. A good many of the projectiles tore into John's kinetic shield, but he was lucky in that it was not breached. John, having been fully taken by the red rage of combat, screamed and fired back.

"Eat titanium you robot assholes!"

He fought back, each of his slugs ripping into the enemy. Plasma met and matched each of his own rounds, slowly pinning John behind cover. Rounds slammed into his kinetic barrier, slowly driving the generator to the breaking point.

"FUCK YOU!" He shouted, and ejected his clip.

Plasma was tearing into him and his cover, hitting hard and heavily. John got back up and fired another torrent at the enemy. A moment later, his kinetic barrier exploded. For a brief moment, there was nothing but a loud ringing. Pain speared through John's head, tearing at the fragile walls of sanity. A second later, it faded and he was re-immersed into the battle.

His armor took a beating, shots seared into them and melting at the plating. The armor itself was never great, simple Alliance standard, but it was degrading faster than it should have. Plasma had a way of doing that.

John kept firing at the group, about twelve strong, trying to weaken them. His efforts were in vain. The enemy had amazing shield technology, vastly superior to anything the Alliance had. Their shields were regenerating before they had a chance to break.

Plasma rained down on Jeff, tearing both him and his armor apart. Finally, he forced himself down to reload. Panting and bleeding, he ejected the thermal clip and inserted the next. It didn't take long for him to realize the hopelessness of the task.

"They're way too fucking powerful... I... I need to focus my efforts." He paused to regain both his breath and his shields, then popped back up. He rained down rounds on one target, intent on emptying his entire clip if he had to. The Geth soldier seemed to sense the change in heart, and backed up.

Plasma tore into John's shields, though they were freshly regenerated, they wouldn't last long. John kept himself up anyway, knowing that his cover would be torn apart if he stayed behind it for long. John eventually tore past the Geth's shielding with a lucky shot to it's head. The Geth suffered a brief electrical shock from the explosion, but it didn't seem to create a shock wave. Odd, Geth shields truly were marvelous.

"EAT... LEAD... YOU FUCKING ROBOT!" John kept firing, smoke rising from his barrel. Finally, the Geth soldier exploded and fell to the ground, and John ducked down to reload his gun.

_One down... Suck it you assholes._

The Geth seemed to stop firing for a moment, and Jeff glanced up. Then he noticed the plasma grenade left at his feet.

"Oh fuck me sideways." He muttered, before diving to the ground.

A moment later, the grenade exploded with massive force. Heat and electricity ripped his scant barricade into nothing, and tore at his shielding. The Geth resumed their gunfire, pouring a rain of plasma onto his shielding.

"FUCK... YOU!" He screamed as both his shields and his sanity snapped.

John's cover had been completely obliterated, his defense was destroyed, and he'd be destroyed too if he wasn't quick. He screamed and ran outside the pod, firing his weapon at a solitary target as he did. He sprinted with intense force, firing and shouting with every ounce of strength he could manage. He reached the Geth soldier a moment later.

Thought the Geth trooper easily stood a foot taller than John, that didn't stop him. John swung his rifle like a club, pulverizing the shield beneath it with the crushing blow. The Geth was knocked back by the force of the blow, and John took advantage.

"Die you bastard!" He screamed before shredding the Geth's hull with the rest of his clip. Only afterwards did he notice how badly damaged the back of his armor was. He turned around and was immediately met with a bolt of plasma tearing into his helmet. With a shout, he stumbled backward and tripped on a large boulder. Immediately, John dove behind this newly discovered cover, before resuming his fight.

The helmet was cracked badly, and some of the visor had been melted off, but otherwise it was intact, and so was he. John fired at the Geth, trying to take down targets one at a time. The Geth kept fighting, however, and soon retreated to cover. John stopped firing for a moment, and ducked behind the boulder. He ejected the thermal clip and regained his bearings.

_Calm down John, you came very close to dying. You have them pinned, you got this, you got thi-_

John looked up to face a Geth Destroyer. He had time to notice one more feature before his helmet was obliterated by tons of plasma-infused titanium.

The visor was glowing orange, instead of red.

* * *

Guns blazing, the array of speed bikes moved in for the kill. All in all, there were about seven of them, each bearing a raider. They moved fast, looted fast, and killed even faster. Their bikes tore across the desert sand with unparalleled ease, rapidly finding their way to the target. They were not Blood Pack, though they bore a resemblance to them, they were not Eclipse either, for they weren't as murderous. They weren't the Blue Suns either, no, they were far too organized. This particular band of raiders was based here, and had lived on this unforgiving rock their whole lives. They hunted down ships that crashed here, conducted labor mines, and sold slaves on this unsuspecting planet.

They were not well known in the Galaxy, and they liked it that way. After all, discretion was the better part of valor, even if they lacked valor. They were a band of raiders known simply as the Desert Riders. This planet was prime hunting ground for them... It had become the site of many battles, and this downed cruiser was not the first.

The seven bikes raced faster and faster toward their goal, organized in a V pattern. At the front of the formation, was the leader of this particular raiding party: An aging Turian by the name of Canus. Though he was approaching middle age, it didn't mean that he was ready to be replaced, far from it in fact. The bikes charged forward, pushing their limits before they finally reached the site of those distress signals. Canus nodded to his compatriots as they charged into the battle site.

Moments after they charged in, plasma rained on both the bikes and the people on them. Canus heard one of his Vorcha scream, and his bike explode before he himself was shot at.

"Kill the Geth bastard!" He shouted as he ran down the Geth soldier.

With loud screams of joy and terror, the Desert Riders dismounted and fired at their enemy. The combined weapons of six soldiers managed to shred the Geth's shields in less than half a minute. The Geth soldier let out an odd shout before falling to the ground, dead. Canus breathed a sigh of relief before walking to his dead soldier.

"Let the desert take your soul, your flesh reincarnated into sand, your spirit into wind, and your bones into stone. You are born a Rider and you die a Rider. You are dead but not gone, lost but not forgotten." Canus finished this final prayer before turning to face the others.

"Search the area and strip that escape pod, there has to be something use-" His words were interrupted as a whole group of Geth soldiers appeared, and rained down hot plasma on the Desert Riders. Gunfire erupted from both sides as the soldiers sprinted for cover. Canus watched, his face a look of comic surprise as he watched his men bolt for cover. A moment later, he did the same. He sprinted for an outcrop of stone, this one already seeming to be damaged.

Plasma pierced through his shields, and he turned to face a horrific Geth Destroyer. The machine made an odd humming noise before firing a hot bolt of plasma and metal into his chest. Canus spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, and his weapon clattered from his hands. The Geth Destroyer, it's eye a peculiar shade of orange, it's carapace a sinister red. It marched forward, intent on finishing the job.

Suddenly, there was movement behind the giant robot. The giant Geth seemed to sense it, and turned to face a Human. The Human was clad in armor, and a severely damaged helmet on it's head. Blood was leaking from it's skull, but it didn't seem to mind, as it tore into the Geth's shielding.

The Human began it's job by slamming it's weapon into the Geth's armored carapace, using it as a rudimentary club instead of a complex weapon. A half minute later, the Geth's shields exploded, enveloping the both of them in electricity and plasma. The Human shouted in pain, after being thrown back by the force of the shield's explosion. The Geth itself didn't seem to mind, and it scrabbled for it's shotgun.

Canus had been watching this with some degree of awe, amazed that a _human_ could manage such incredible strength. Now, he snapped himself out of his self-induced paralysis, and charged the Geth. Too late, however, as the Geth already had a firm grip on it's plasma shotgun. It fired once, and then twice. Canus was knocked back by the force of the hit, the first shot dissipating his shields and the second tearing into his chest cavity.

"Fucking... Robot..." The Human muttered as it regained it's footing.

"I'm... Going... To... Kill you." It continued, a heavy pistol in it's hand.

The Geth robot fired it's shotgun once at the Human, who seemed to shrug off the blow, even after it's armor was stripped away and the flesh underneath was torn apart. The Human approached closer, and raised it's pistol.

"Hasta la vista, bitch." It muttered, as it tore the robot into oblivion with a heavy torrent of deadly slugs. The Geth was ripped apart by the flurry of rounds, and it fell to the ground. It was smoking, smoldering, and more than dead. The Human then turned it's attention to Canus.

"Uh... Hello, human." Canus spoke, his voice strained and hurt.

"Turian... What's your name..." The human seemed to be hurt badly as well, it's voice thin and weak.

"Canus. Do you need medical attention?"

"Ask yourself, first." With that, the human collapsed onto the desert hardpan.

* * *

When John Stein awoke, it was night on the desert planet. His armor was lying in a ruined heap beside him, and he seemed to have been expertly bandaged. He was lying on top of a long, rectangular crate, a blanket lain on top. There was a small fire smoldering not far away, keeping him ever so slightly warm. He looked around. He was in the same place he was when he collapsed, but there were a fair bit of differences. The downed escape pod was no longer in it's original place, there were several new crates lying in piles around where the ruins were located. There was an array of speed bikes, each of them huddled together.

He looked at himself, and realized that he was stark naked. He decided not to mention it, as it was could easily have saved his life in an odd way. After all, how does one bandage a wound, when there's a layer of burned metal over it? To his left, was what looked like the world's ugliest Krogan.

"Boss, he's waking up!" The Krogan shouted in a hoarse, very thick voice.

"Thanks Xax, I'll see to him. Go get yourself a glass of Ryncol." The familiar Turian's voice responded.

"Thanks Boss." With that, the Krogan wandered to the circle of Speed Bikes.

A few moment's later, the Turian was in front of him.

"Hello Human. Do you recognize me?" The Turian, Canus, asked.

"Yes. Canus, is it?"

"Indeed. Now, what is your name?" The Turian still held a friendly, almost reverent tone.

"My name is John Stein, I'm an Alliance soldier."

"Alliance." His voice became low... Almost angry. "Alliance has caused much trouble throughout the Galaxy. We have no love for your type around here. Still, you saved my life today."

"Uh... What?"

"You don't remember? Must be the adrenaline. You killed that Geth Destroyer over there, let's leave it at that."

"Oh. Well, who are you?"

"You already know my name."

"Yes, but _who_ are you?"

"Ah, I see. I crashed onto this planet, oh, twenty or twenty-five years ago. There were others who came with me, but they were killed by the blast. The pod's engines didn't work, you see." That got John thinking. His pod hadn't worked, but he assumed that was because of the Geth ship's explosion.

"I survived, but I was hurt badly. I set up a distress signal, like you did. The Turian military never found me, but a shuttle full of Blood Pack mercs did. I put up a fight, and killed two. Then, I electrocuted them by overloading the escape pod's battery. Soon, I had seven captives. One of them died." Canus continued. "I trained them, actually tortured them until they broke. Cruel, I know, but Blood Pack is crueler. I swayed them to my cause, and eventually, we got to work. Ships crash here all the time, it must be the magnetic core, or something. Either way, people rarely survive the blast, and when they _do_ survive, we either recruit them or kill them. Until today, we've never had a human in our ranks."

"You want me to join you?"

"You proved yourself today, and human or not, we could use you. Will you join the Desert Riders?" Canus seemed hopeful.

John took a glance at the heavy pistol, not far from the ruin of his armor. Then he looked at the crew of raiders not far from here.

"I guess I don't have a choice."

"Of course you do, you have a choice between glory or death." The Turian chuckled, and then continued. "No, you do have a choice. You don't have to join... But I'll warn you that if we see you again, we treat you as we usually treat unarmed humans."

"Well, I'll join up with you. On one condition. If we run into any Alliance soldiers, we let them live. Loot the ship and take their guns if you have to, but _let them live._"

"Understood. I don't like it, but understood."

"Good, good."

"Come on, we'll show you the base." Canus handed him an outfit, pretty much just khaki shorts, a grey t-shirt, and some desert boots. He let him get dressed, then led him to one of the speed bikes. "You know how to use these?"

"Of course. Let's move." With that, they headed out into the desert.


	5. Breaking Point

She was dying. Janis had known this for a good while, and the thought only kept resurfacing as she marched through the desert. Her wounds were healing, but they weren't the problem. The problem was her thirst. Her head pulsed with rhythmic pain, a steady drone that followed her heartbeat. Her progress had slowed to an aching, burning crawl. Her legs were weak and inflamed, not strong enough to carry her. Her lungs seared with both exhaustion and the thin oxygen in the air. She was dragging herself along at this point, her arms aching and weak.

_I'm going to die here, aren't I?_ She thought, and with no hesitation, answered herself.

_Yes. It's only been a day, but the oxygen and the combined efforts have sped up the process. You're doomed to die in this desert._

She continued on, letting the sun beat down on her, slowly demoralizing her and snapping every last sinew of sanity left. Air pushed in and out of her lungs, locked in a never-ending cycle of panting. She was hurt, bad. The medi-gel had helped, but it hadn't helped enough. Her wounds were re-opening, and the blood would start flowing again.

She had been progressing through this desert for over an Earth day, but on this planet, that was three. Pain had become a constant companion to her, constantly walking alongside her, tearing away ever so slightly at her resolve. She hadn't run into any other ruins, Geth or otherwise, for a good while. The last sign of civilization she had run into was the airlock door to a lander craft.

_I wish I died alongside Dave._ The thought, solemn and solitary, pulsed through her mind.

"No... Don't think that way..." Her voice was thin, raspy, and hoarse. This new effort sent a shock wave of heavy pain through her throat. It felt like a thousand sinews had snapped when she raised her voice.

_Just a little further._ She told herself, despite knowing that there was little if any chance of finding anyone else.

"So... So thirsty..." Something in her throat split open, but shockingly, did not bleed.

_God... I'm really going to die here. Aren't I?_ To her own surprise, she caught herself trying to lick any blood on that wound, to no avail.

She dragged herself along, one eye shut and the other slitted. The light was painful, the heat was painful, and she was slowly reaching the breaking point. Still, she focused on moving forward, because if she didn't she might as well just die here. One arm shot forward, and propelled her forward.

She was a tall figure, emaciated and skeletal. Her hair, once a vibrant blond, was faded to an unhealthy ash color. Her face, once pretty and decent, was stretched thin and gaunt. Her eyes were sunken and hollow, and the irises were a stormy gray color. Her clothing was torn and damaged, and her boots all but destroyed. Her suit, once so prim and proper, was reduced to nothing but a shredded shirt and torn pants. Her skin was almost paper-thin and splitting open. Sores, thin, weak, and pestilent had sprouted at the corners of her mouth.

Her lungs were weak, the thin membranous tissue that made up it's walls were weak and receding. Her heart was pumping blood at well over twice it's native rate, and it too was slowly reaching the point of destruction. Her liver was a shrunken and dried out sac of material. Still contained within it's fleshy borders, was a good deal of toxic material. Overall, she was dying, inside and out.

_I'm going to die here._ Her thoughts repeated, this time with less hesitation.

Another hour passed before she ran into another sign of people. Off in the distance, Janis thought she heard voices. She strained to hear them, but couldn't get anything decipherable.

_Just a whisper in the fucking wind._ She thought, before striking off in that direction.

She was starved and thirsty, very thirsty. If people were there, they might have water... Or at the very least, they might give her a gun that hadn't short-circuited in the heat. She kept crawling along, before that feeling of hopeful optimism completely took her, and she actually _got up_. Fresh pain, something along the lines of tearing a tendon, coursed through her, but for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel it. She got to her feet, and began to walk toward the voices.

If she had known the fate of one Jeffery Farris, a man who had survived so much... Just to lose it all, she might have turned back.

She walked on unsteady feet, and eventually convinced herself that the voices _were_ real, and that they weren't a machination of her own mind. Eventually, she got within listening distance.

"We heard a signal not too far from here, we're going to check it out." A voice, distinctly Batarian spoke.

_Batarians... Were they on the cruiser? Maybe they were being brought to Earth._ She thought, letting the tiny flame of hope rise.

"Bah! I say we go right back to base. I don't like crash sites. Smoke hard to breathe."

Janis' hopes were dashed. A Vorcha. It was unlikely that any of them would ever enlist or be drafted into the Systems Alliance, and even more unlikely that they would have survived a crash. Still, she found herself crawling further up the dune, listening further into the conversation.

"C'mon, you know Canus won't like it if we passed it up. What about that last crash site we came across, empty and looted. If we don't act quick, they'll strip that thing down and get moving." The Batarian responded.

"Ah screw you Danak, and screw Canus. I don't want to go."

"Whatever you say Vosk, then stay here you Hanar." Janis registered the last remark as an insult.

"Fine!" The Vorcha stopped speaking. A moment later, Janis heard the distinct sound of a speed bike riding off.

_Dammit. I'm in no condition to fight, and my gun's jammed anyway._ Janis thought. _But if I stay here, I die. Plain and simple._

"So... It's fight and have a chance at living, or die anyway." Her voice, little more than a hoarse and dying whisper, muttered.

Slowly, Janis steeled her resolve. She picked up her SMG, and climbed over the dune. She looked down to see a solitary Vorcha. It's back was turned to her, and it seemed that he was eating something.

_Food!_

That got her thinking. If he had food, he probably had water. Even if Vorcha food was inedible to her, the water was what really got her enticed.

_My only chance to survive... And that Vorcha's the only thing in the way._

Janis slowly moved forward, a busted SMG in the left hand, and her right one empty. She crept up behind the Vorcha, silent as ever. A minute later, she was directly behind it. On his hip was a heavy pistol, nestled in a secure-looking holster. Janis debated what to do for a brief moment, before acting.

She switched the SMG to her right hand, and pressed it against the Vorcha's skull. She pulled her own head in and spoke in the Vorcha's ear.

"Drop your gun on the ground, get on your speed bike, and drive away. Leave that crate behind, and drive away. I don't want to kill you, I just want some fucking water."

The Vorcha was silent for all of a minute, then it spoke, it's voice hideous and terrible.

"Put gun down. I leave, I leave."

"Just go. And I'll keep the gun up, mind you." Janis felt her throat rip open, and fresh pain speared her mind. Still, she did her best not to let it show.

The Vorcha dropped it's pistol onto the ground, and began to walk away. Janis relaxed her grip, and let her eye wander over to the crate. Immediately, the Vorcha screamed and swung backward. It balled up it's fist and slammed it into Janis' face. Janis flew back with a shout, her ears ringing and her jaw aching. The Vorcha let out another venomous screech before charging her yet again. Janis had a slight window of opportunity, and she attempted to use it.

She raised her SMG and pulled the trigger. The weapon let out a dry click, rather than a deafening roar.

_Of fucking course._

She back up, but the Vorcha was on her in a matter of moments. The Vorcha slammed it's fist into her skull, giving her a black eye and a cut dangerously close to it. The Vorcha hit her again, and again, and again. Pain rocketed through her, and all thought turned to animal instinct. The Vorcha got up to kick her, and she once again tried the gun. The gun seemed to put on twenty pounds, but she raised it nonetheless, and pulled the trigger. Once again, a dry click.

The Vorcha slammed it's pointed foot into her hand, impaling it and making the gun clatter away from her. Janis screamed in pain and misery, before pulling her damaged hand away. The Vorcha shouted and attacked her, slamming her face repeatedly into the desert sand. Blood poured from her face, and her jaw snapped under the repeated attack, but she still resisted. The Vorcha seemed to tire, even if for just a brief moment.

Janis pounced on the Vorcha, using strength she didn't even know she had. She balled up both her fists into one heavy hammer, and brought it down on the Vorcha's chest. The Vorcha shouted in pain, and countered. He slammed his knee into her side, using the protruding bones to tear her apart. Once more, she screamed in pain and surprise, but didn't let up. She picked up her SMG with one hand, using the other to beat the Vorcha senseless. She brought the SMG down on the Vorcha's skull, using it as a club of sorts. Then she tried the trigger once more.

_ANOTHER FUCKING CLICK!_

Her mind screamed, so she didn't have to.

She still used the SMG as a club, slamming it into the Vorcha's skull repeatedly. Finally, the Vorcha let out a piercing scream that both curdled Janis' blood, and left her ears bleeding. The Vorcha took advantage of the newly found weakness, and threw her to the side. The Vorcha jumped on top of her and began to rain down blows. Her ribcage snapped under the repeated assault, and she felt something rupture.

She snaked the SMG out under the Vorcha. If this didn't work now, she would die. She nestled her finger on the trigger, and pulled.

It didn't click this time.

The gun exploded, sending hot shrapnel and electricity into the Vorcha, and Janis herself. Janis looked down to see that her hand had been ripped to shreds, and in fact barely recognizable. She also took note that the Vorcha's stomach no longer existed. The abomination's stomach had been torn open, and it's chest cavity had been ripped to shreds by the explosion. The Vorcha screamed, and fell to the ground.

Janis herself had been injured badly, _very_ badly by the explosion, but she was still able to move. She backed up, and got to her feet. Though her legs were weak and she was hurt to an extreme, she still managed it. She slammed her feet down on the monster repeatedly. Eventually, the Vorcha stopped squirming, but she still didn't stop. Eventually, the creature's skull caved in, but she didn't stop. Finally, she looked down to see that the Vorcha's skull was completely obliterated. Nothing but red mush remained, and the Vorcha was the farthest thing from alive.

Slowly, Janis eased herself out of the blood lust, and let conscious thought reassert itself.

_Now for that crate._

All at once, the pain came rushing back. Her shredded hand, her failing organs, everything presented itself on a colossal scale. Now, she understood the notion of sensory overload. Suddenly, she began to feel just how difficult it was to walk, and just how bad her thirst was. She moved on her feet nonetheless, knowing that she was moving on borrowed time. She reached the crate and pulled off the lid. She rummaged through the contents, and eventually found what she needed: Medi-gel. She took off the lid and administered it as best as she could.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she cracked open another canister, and then another. Finally, she felt as if she wasn't hanging on death's doorstep, about to ring the bell. She rummaged through further, and found another miracle: Water.

She drank down a fair bit of it before puking it all into the sand. She watched with hopelessness as the sand devoured the water with remarkable speed.

_Slow it down, or you'll just kill yourself._

She took another draft, this time swallowing and waiting before going for another. The water, she was sure she had never had anything better in her whole life. She drank down _gallons_, each sip controlled and barely restrained. The water seemed sweeter and fuller than anything she had ever had in her life. It was something akin to heaven, should it exist.

Then, she turned her attention to the food. Thanks to the bio-diversity among the ranks of the Desert Riders, though Janis didn't know that they were who she was looting, the food was carefully marked.

_Levo-amino. Perfect._

She unsealed the can, and drank down the nutrient paste within. Though the paste was bland, and the texture was slimy, she absolutely _loved it._ The paste within was cool, in stark contrast to the desert around it, and the mild, unoffensive taste made it easy to eat. This was her first food in a while, and it was all the better for it. She gulped down the nutrient paste by the can, before putting it away.

In the crate, there was more food, water, and medi-gel. There were also a few backpacks, basic clothing, and a ton of thermal clips.

_Basic camping provisions, it seems._ Janis thought, before taking a pack and packing plenty of supplies. She changed out of her scorched clothing, happy to see that her ribs weren't quite so prominent, and that he stomach wasn't completely sunken in. She changed into her outfit, a gray T-shirt, and khaki shorts. She slipped on the Desert boots and moved on. She walked over to the dead Vorcha, intent on taking it's heavy pistol, when she saw that it too had exploded.

_God-fucking dammit._ She thought, before turning to the speed bike.

"My ticket outta here." She muttered, happy to find that her voice had returned to it's previous tone. She walked up to it, and examined the controls.

"Let's fuckin' ride." She shouted, before striking off into the desert. Her hair, cut short flapped happily in the wind as she flew along the tracks left by the Batarian's bike.


	6. Blood Moon

**Sorry for the late upload guys, I kinda came down with something yesterday and didn't write much. My bad! Keep reading and hopefully you enjoy it, remember, reviews and comments are _greatly_ appreciated.**

* * *

_ And God said "Let there be light!"_

_ "Let there be light!"_

_ "LET THERE BE LIGHT!"_

And in the darkness, there was light.

* * *

Pain came rushing back, flowing in massive torrents, carving valleys and rivers in the framework of his mind. His entire body pulsed with it, tearing down the foundations of conscience thought to raw instinct. A multitude of other senses hit him, but first, there was only pain. His arms and legs pulsed with tight, aching, and sore pain. His chest felt torn and ripped. Worst of all though, was his head. He was crippled with a splitting and horrible headache. The light shot spears deep into the contours of his mind, bringing a scream to his lips. His head felt shriveled and weak, and his mind was a vast network of signals: All sending pain.

At first he couldn't move. His legs seemed locked in paralysis, his arms resisting every attempted movement. He felt weak and dim, and his body was the same. His tongue felt like leather, plastered to the roof of his mouth. His eyes were dry and aching, far too sensitive to the light. His skin was rough and torn, but no blood came forth. His lips were completely thinned and cracked, a dry layer of blood painted them a dry shade of maroon.

_C'mon you busted shit-kickers... MOVE!_ He thought, silently forcing himself to move.

_I did not come all this way just to die... Right?_ No... No... Fate surely couldn't be so cruel as to torture him, right? Surely he was more than destiny's plaything.

Slowly, and very unsteadily, he forced himself up off the ground. Fresh pain ripped him apart, and he felt his legs tear open. A trickle of thin blood slowly spilled down his leg... But that was it.

_Somehow... This seems worse than the pain._ Jeff thought, unwittingly mirroring Janis' thoughts less than a day before she had them.

Once more, he fell to his knees, pain ripping the fragile network of his mind apart. He wanted to scream, he wanted _desperately_ to scream... But such luxuries he could not afford. His mouth and throat was completely dry, and felt like sandpaper. He forced himself up yet again, this time expecting and bracing against the sudden pain. His legs, sinew by sinew, snapped apart, and he nearly tumbled back to the floor. His chest heaved violently up, spewing fresh blood onto the desert. His insides were boiling and damaged, and he knew that he couldn't hold up much longer.

He watched with grim and silent horror, as the desert sucked in the newly formed puddle of blood. Within seconds, it was gone.

_You like that! Huh?! YOU LIKE THAT?!_

He caught his own thoughts moments after they came.

"I've... I've gone insane." His voice was a weak croak, but distinctly recognizable.

He focused on one thing at a time, first getting to his feet. He forced himself up, wincing and groaning with the fiery red pain that came with it. With a stumble, he began to shake violently as his weakened legs buckled.

_Stand up. Please... Stand up. STAND UP!_

With sheer force of will and an indeterminate amount of renewed strength, he remained on his feet. He forced himself a few steps further, and further. Pain flared, red and bright, reducing all but the most vital instinct to a dim hum.

"Fuck... You..." He breathed to no one in particular.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, thin and reluctant. Every step brought fresh pain, but each flare was less than the last. Either he was recovering... Or his nervous system was overloading and numbing. He looked ahead. He focused on his next goal: Search the ship.

The downed shuttle was literally a couple yards away, but he still needed to get around to the other side. He approached the burnt out hull of the vessel, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He stumbled, and before regaining his balance, fell to the ground. Fresh pain tore him apart for a moment as his legs crashed onto the desert hardpan. A thin rill of blood slowly trickled down his forehead. What did come out, was thin and dry... Almost as if it wasn't a liquid at all.

He lay there for a moment, letting the hot and desolate rays of the sun put blisters on his skin. Twice, he caught himself fading out. His eyelids were on the verge of closing... Likely for good. The distant hum of the wind grew further, further, _further_ away as he let darkness take him for the second time.

_LET THERE BE LIGHT!_ A voice, as alien and different from his own, as he was different to a Krogan. The voice tore through his mind, ripping another hole in the fragile cloth of his sanity.

Jeffery Farris, Alliance engineer and soldier, died that day. In his place, a shadow of him, a shell of his former self, took over. Jeff was a kind fellow, the sort of guy you could drink a beer with and share a few jokes. Jeff was also weak, a victim of his own spoiled life, even if he was a soldier. He died, taking with him, the very last essence of Jeff's innocence.

Jeff opened his eyes... But they weren't the same as they were. These eyes were filled with a cold and cruel light, filled with nothing but survival and cruelty. The irises were much thicker and brighter than before. These new eyes were horrifying and cruel, and let in vast amounts of light. There was one other new detail about these new eyes

They were orange.

The Not-Jeff thing walked onward, it's eyes glowing in the darkness. Pain was abstract from it's own mind, a distant dream. Without the constraints of pan, It pushed it's body to the absolute limits and kept moving. Blood slowly trickled from the corner of it's mouth, but it paid no mind. In the distance, a reluctant and solitary plume of smoke rose into the air.

_Such a delicious smell..._ The voice in that head was sinister and monotone, completely devoid of any form of compassion.

It marched forward, eventually pushing forward through into the ruins of the fighter. It was a small, wrecked thing. A single-manned fighter, probably a scout. Huddled by it's ruins, was a wounded pilot. He was hunched around a fire, trying to extract even the smallest amount of heat from it. It marched forward, a sinister grin on it's face. Obscured by shadows and darkness, It walked closer to the pilot.

"Whoa! Didn't see ya there. You know, it's been so long since I've seen another person, and I've been camping here for a while. You look hurt, do you need any medi-gel? Or any nutrient paste? Or do you need something els-"

It walked up to the man, annoyed at his high-pitched and excited tone. It grabbed the pilot with intense force, keeping a deadlock on his throat.

"What... Are... You... Doing?" The human choked out.

"Harbinger's will." It spat, as if rueful of the name. It choked the pilot further and further into the gray, slowly bringing it to death.

"EMBRACE ETERNITY" It shouted, providing a flawless, if emotionless, imitation of an Asari matriarch. It forced the pilot's eyes open, and stared. It pierced into the pilot's blue-green eyes, with it's own orange eyes. The haunting glow of those terrifying eyes imprinted themselves into the pilot's mind, completely dissolving any and all consciousness.

With a grin, It grabbed the human by the skull, and ripped a chunk of flesh out of his neck. Blood poured from the open wound, bright and fragrant. The grin widened as the Not-Jeff thing dunked it's open mouth under the stream. Blood poured down It's throat, delicious and coppery, and warm.

_Warm..._

A half minute passed before the river slowed to a stream, and then a gully, then a rill. It licked up the final remnant of blood before stepping away. It took a look at the crumpled corpse, and then forced the eyelids open. The eye underneath was glazed and horrible, completely dead. Still, the light was only _just_ beginning to fade, and he still had a chance. He stared into them with full and awful intent, bringing his gaze ever closer.

The haunted glow of those eyes bore into the dead light of the pilot's. Slowly, the corpse's eyes began to glow orange. At first, the glow was dim and tiny, almost nonexistent. Soon, the glow swelled to a fiery orange, and then it bore completely in. Those terrible eyes glowed orange, the only light in the dead of night. The Not-Jeff thing screamed in joy, terrifying a group of soldiers, camped a few miles away. With a start, one of those soldiers screamed into the night, before regaining her composure.

With a grin of sadistic joy slowly blooming on It's face, Not-Jeff wandered toward that direction. Painted clearly on his mouth, was a red mask.

* * *

The soldier jumped uneasily, uttering a small scream as she did. A moment later, her companions were laughing at her.

"Oh c'mon, you rescued me from deep space, and risked your life to save mine. What the hell are you afraid of?"

She nodded her head, slightly ashamed of herself.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just a bit jumpy. Ever since we crashed, I didn't like the feel of this place. It's kinda... Creepy." She muttered, as if talking to herself.

"That's an understatement... This planet is completely dead... Yet we've been here a full day. Sure, the air is kinda hard to breathe, but we found water earlier, and it would be _so_ easy for life to flourish here. Point being, this place shouldn't be dead." The soldier spoke with an undertone of fear and nervousness.

"It's alright Al, we should be fine. I set up a distress signal not long ago, and the Alliance will be here soon."

"I know Amanda, it's just that... Well, do you know the feeling of being watched?" Al asked, letting fear creep into his voice _ever_ so slightly.

"Yes, I know it." Amanda couldn't manage anymore, she simply pulled her knees up to her chin, and closed her eyes. Either sleeping or pretending to in order to avoid the discussion.

"They aren't coming any time soon." Titus, a young Turian soldier, usually taciturn, spoke up.

"Why not!" Al spoke, more of an accusation than a question.

"Because, this system is abandoned. There are no Alliance crafts anywhere near here, and the only other sign of civilization is an abandoned space station that Alliance found crawling with zombies."

"They'll be here... There has to be dozens of other signals being transmitted, we are NOT alone!" Al let his voice rise to an ear-splitting roar.

Amanda heard the exchange, and crawled away from the two men. She wasn't in the mood for this, and decided she probably wouldn't be. She got up, and wandered behind the nearby sand dune.

She dug a small hole in the sand, and slept peacefully, letting Al's harsh voice and Titus' accusatory tone drown into silence.

_Men... Always so loud. Still, I love those guys, they saved my life, after all?_

Little did she know, history repeats. They saved her life once, and they'd save it again before the night faded to day.

Not-Jeff listened intently. Just over the dune, there were two men arguing, and this was likely going to turn to an open fistfight. Men, _soldiers_ no less. They had been on this planet for a day, an _earth_ day, and would likely be sick of one another by then.

_Good... Stay angry, it makes the blood taste all the better._

It approached and watched the fight. They were a Turian and a Human, as It suspected. It let their tempers simmer for a moment further, before sprinting into battle. The both of them were too engaged in their fight to notice the silent and deadly apparition moving toward them. Moments later, It was upon the human. The Turian screamed in surprise, and grabbed it's shotgun.

"Al! Hang on!" The Turian shouted as it scrabbled at the holster.

A moment later, the Turian had a firm grip on the gun, and fired. The weapon bucked up with intense force, knocking the weapon out of his panicked hands. A spray of projectiles slammed into the creature, it's eyes simmered to a sinister red before they turned to face his. What that Turian saw... It would forever scar him.

_Palaven... Palaven being ripped to shreds by a Reaper army. They didn't tell me, they never told me anything. The Alliance let my family die... They let my family die. My sister was torn in half by a Reaper Brute, and taken to a reaper transport ship. They used her flesh to create another soldier. My father died trying to defend my mother. He was shot through and died smelling of gunsmoke. They took his body and used it to create another Brute. My mother screamed, and was indoctrinated like countless others. Palaven was destroyed, and so was everything I ever loved._

All these images and more whipped through Titus' mind, dragging him into the depths of insanity. The Turian, however, was made of sterner stuff. He screamed once more, weakening the grip the creature had on him. He fired twice more, piercing the human-like creature's body. It was thrown back by the force, and screamed. That hiss was completely inhuman and terrifying, and just then, every last bit of strength ran out of him.

Not-Jeff screamed and jumped on top of the Turian. It brought it's fangs closer to the Turian's metallic carapace. It ripped into the Turian's neck, bringing purple-blue blood to it's tongue.

_Drink... Drink my child._ A voice, not unlike Not-Jeff's, whispered comfortingly.

Amanda was running. She heard screaming, and then some gunshots. She ran in terror and pain, letting hot air rip through her lungs.

_Titus! Al! I hope to god that you guys make it... Come on, you have to make it._

She sprinted through the night, long after her legs went numb. The desert whipped by her in a horrible flurry, and she kept moving, intent on putting whatever that..._ Thing_ was, and her.

Finally, after an eternity of running, she puked up a massive amount of semi-digested nutrient paste. In her suit, she had provisions to last two more earth days, including oxygen.

"I have a feeling... I'm gonna need them." She breathed, not knowing just how true those words were.


	7. Hannibal

Speed Bikes tore across the desert with remarkable speed. Recently, the Desert Riders had lost contact with not one, not two, but _six_ different members of their organization. This was an incredibly high number, and definitely needed to be investigated. John Stein flew forward, on the bike flying next to his, a young Asari named Dasara. The both of them had been assigned as partners, as no one walked alone on this hostile world.

"So what do you think killed them?" John asked the unusually quiet Asari.

"... I think it might have been Hannibal." The Asari answered.

"Hannibal?" John asked intently, letting his voice rise slightly.

"You... You don't know? I guess I can't blame you, you've only been here a day..." For a moment, the Asari was silent. Then she continued. "Hannibal is the name we've given to one of the spirits that live on this planet. Odd, odd, I know. But you see, occasionally, something rises up from the ground. It's like a radio signal that attacks all sentience, living or synthetic." A moment later, they arrived at the partially stripped husk of a fighter. Not far away, were the bodies of two Vorcha.

"They haven't rotted." John muttered, more of a statement than a question.

"Of course, there's no bacteria on this planet to do it. Honestly, I'm surprised they're still here."

John stopped in his tracks, and turned to face the Asari.

"What?"

"Another thing with Hannibal. When a sentient being dies, it's brain is taken over. Not unlike the indoctrination of a living thing into a husk... A transformation occurs. Xax, y'know, big Krogan, well, he thinks it has to do with the Reapers. Personally, I think he's crazy, but I wouldn't tell him. Anyhow, a synthetic is hacked easily, a steady degradation of their sanity, but it's quick, and when they're taken, they do the bidding of their masters. When they're living, all the target feels is a queer sensation of being watched. A feeling that is easy to dispel through any other senses. When they die, the signal takes over the brain, and brings em' back." Dasara stopped for a moment as she began to drag the shattered corpse of a Krogan.

John, using his biotic abilities, began to pick up the two bodies of the Batarians. He carried them, dragging one, another on his shoulder, and dumped them into the already-assembled pile of corpses.

"Ready?" Dasara asked, as she readied her incendiary rounds.

"Yup."

"Let the desert take your soul, your flesh reincarnated into sand, your spirit into wind, and your bones into stone. You are born a Rider and you die a Rider. You are dead but not gone, lost but not forgotten." Dasara finished this little chant, and readied her gun.

Dasara fired a few rounds from her heavy pistol into the pile. A couple moments later, a blaze got going. Soon, the terrible scent of burning armor and plastic met their noses. The both of them stepped away.

"Nice, isn't it." John muttered, staring at the blaze. "Please Dasara, continue your story.

"Alright. When these things come back... Their eyes glow. These things aren't unlike husks, except they maintain their intelligence, and are a thousand times more terrifying... Even worse... They have a taste for blood. They feed on their targets, and create more. The Desert Riders have seen this twice before, and under Canus' leadership, we beat it back. This is the first time in a long while that we've had to deal with this. Usually we destroy the brains of dead enemies, and bury our comrades... It's the reason why we travel in pairs." She continued, letting a solitary tear fall down her cheek.

"C'mon Dasara, I think we should leave."

"Yes... Yes we should." Dasara seemed to be tearing up now, possibly remembering lost comrades.

The both of them hooked up their trailers to their speed bikes, loaded the trailers with crates, and set a tracking beacon on the ruined ship, indicating that it was to be looted later.

_Not a moment too soon._ John thought, as he set off on his bike.

The both of them tore across the desert, making their way to the Riders' base. They rode without sharing another word.

* * *

The Riders' base was a sprawling and complex structure. The walls, eroded and rough from constant, sandy winds, stood tall and strong. The gate was composed of reinforced steel, and swung on strong hinges. A huge garage of speed bikes, multiple levels tall. A strong, rusted iron door stood vigil to the front of the base. There were no windows.

The interior was cool and bright, it's halls composed of steel walls and lit floors. The entire structure glowed blue, not unlike the Citadel. The main corridor was lined with doors, each on unlabeled and oppressive-looking. The corridor wasn't long, and soon led into a big lounge room. Comfortable chairs dotted the floor, standing next to various tables. A stack of omni-games was piled impressively on top of one of those tables. In fact, the whole room seemed entirely unlike something a group of reckless mercenaries would live.

The lounge room was big enough, and to both it's east and west sides, were two more corridors. One led to the living quarters, east, and the other to the garage and armories. Dead ahead, was another corridor. That one led to a staircase, a set of steps going up, and a set going down. Upstairs, there were more living quarters on the east side, and a large machine designed to create oxygen at a stable amount... Just enough to keep the people here comfortable. Ahead, was a control room. This room controlled both the climate control device, the power, and a large planetary cannon. The cannon was big, but not strong enough to eliminate anything bigger than a frigate.

Not that there was any need, however. This planet attracted ships like a magnet. The cannon was large, but mostly unused. In fact, many of the Vorcha, having adapted to dark corridors aboard the cargo holds of various starships, were petitioning to use the cannon's barrel as a sleeping quarters. Down below the base, was a huge mining complex and prisoner's quarters. The planet of Tungel was rich with resources, and slave labor was very useful.

These days, it was mostly the Riders' themselves doing the mining, as the labor was only necessary from time to time, and the it was mostly a tool for breaking prisoners for recruitment. All in all, the Riders' base was an organized structure, if large and constantly expanding.

John walked over to his quarters, and opened the doors. He stepped into his room and closed the door, and shut off the light. He laid on his bed for a fair bit, reflecting on the darkness, and Hannibal.

_Orange eyes... Orange eyes..._

John let his mind and his body fall asleep.

* * *

_"And in the Darkness... There was light."_

_John awoke in the middle of the desert night. All around him, there was darkness. The moons were down and out, completely eclipsed. He looked around, and saw nothing, not even his own hands._

_ "Where am I?" He asked, his voice weak and echoing._

_ "You are in the Darkness..." A distant voice responded._

_ "What is this?" John asked, this time in exasperation._

_ "THE DARKNESS." The voice came closer this time... Much closer._

_ John began to run, but the darkness never seemed to move or dispel. He sprinted faster and faster, trying to escape this hideous reality._

_ "NO ONE ESCAPES THE DARKNESS JOHN." The voice was all around him now, tearing into his eardrums._

_ "Help me..." John screamed desperately, hitching in a brief sob._

_ "And in the Darkness... THERE WAS LIGHT!"_

_ All around him, enveloping him, surrounding him, suffocating him, were countless glowing eyes. Their hideous and terrible gaze tore him apart, driving him further and further into madness. They glowed with sinister strength, bright and hot as nearby suns... The light was blinding, intoxicating, and horrible._

_ Once more, the light was orange._

* * *

John awoke with a start, not knowing that he had screamed his lungs out moments ago. He was at the cusp of panic, and felt glad that he was still alive. His heart raced, thumping loudly in his chest, sending wild shocks of adrenaline through his system. He looked around, and noticed that he was still in the dark.

_It's okay... There are no eyes to watch me here. _The thought comforted him, and lulled him into security.

A moment later, the door slammed open, and the light blazed on.

"John! Are you alright?" Dasara was standing before him clad in a basic uniform and a shield generator hastily slapped on. In her hand, was an M-358 Talon heavy pistol. Her eyes were wide and afraid, and seemingly panicked.

_No... No, she's too brave to panic like that._

"Y...Y...Yeah Dasara, I'm fine." He said, unaware that he was still stuttering in fear.

"Are your sure? I heard a scream."

"Yeah, that was me. Sorry for waking you."

Dasara's eyes slowly widened, and then became small and remorseful.

"No, I'm sorry. It was my fault."

"What, why?" John shifted in his bed, and slowly approached Dasara."

"I should have never told you about Hannibal... I gave you nightmares, didn't I? I'm sorry, John. I never meant to hurt you."

"No... No Dasara, it's not your fault."

Dasara looked up into his eyes.

"Really?"

"Really. Go back to sleep Dasara, I'm sorry for waking you."

"Okay John, have a good night." With that Dasara walked back into her room.

John himself was still afraid, but refused to let it impact him.

_I have a job to do._ He thought as he let himself fall asleep. Slowly, he drifted under his covers, and let sleep take him. This time, however, he left the light on.

John awoke about 9 hours later. He was still drowsing, but he had a job to do, after all. He stepped out of bed and walked to his dresser. It was a metal thing, what with wood being so rare on this planet. He pulled out one of the drawers and dressed. He slipped on a new pair of briefs, simple gray. He then pulled his shorts up, again, just a simple and droll color. Pure white. He slipped on a semi-fitted shirt and pulled on his visor.

"Alright, time to go to work." John muttered as he walked over to the armory. Barefoot, he walked down the cold metal floors, and into the armory. Lining the walls were racks and racks of guns. He toured past the racks, and eventually reached the end. He stepped into one of the arming pods, basically just a metal cylinder with a terminal up front.

He stepped into the pod, and let the door close. He stood up straight, and allowed the machine to assemble the armor onto his body. Rotaries and engines whirred and whirled. Slowly, his armor was assembled piece by piece. After a short while, it was fully assembled and he stepped out into the armory. He took another look around, and noticed Dasara also entering one of the pods.

"Hey Sara!" He shouted across the room.

Dasara turned and waved, before stepping into her pod. John grabbed a Phaeston assault rifle, an M-3 Predator heavy pistol, and walked out the door. He walked quickly, just as excited to get to this mission, as he was to finish it. He passed several people in the halls, none of them human. He waved to each of them, knowing them at the very least as casual friends. On a lonely desert planet, people made friends quickly.

He entered the garage, easily melding into a group of eleven. Canus himself was going to accompany them, despite the potential risks.

"Hello men and women. As you know, this mission will be difficult, and many may die. I won't sugar-coat it for you, we'll be going into the belly of the beast soon. As you know, many of the Alliance soldiers who went down on this planet set up distress signals, and many more died. This triggered a re-awakening of Hannibal." At the mention of the name, the crowd of soldiers uttered a fearful sigh. "Our sensors have detected them, and while these things like to spread out, we have seen that a majority of them are at the northern pole of the planet. They've concentrated on one patch of land, an _unexplored_ patch of land. We've always avoided the area because of those mountains, but now, we have to go. We're going to move in via shuttle, and we're going to take them out. If we don't these things will spread like a disease." Canus took a deep breath before continuing.

"We've all been fitted with the best armor and shielding, as well as Phaeston assault rifles imported directly from a scavenging craft that came from Palaven. Make use of these guns, and don't die. Good luck men, and I hope I see all your faces when we come back."

With that, the crowd cheered and piled into the large shuttle. It wasn't long before Dasara came through and entered the shuttle as well.

_13 people... I don't like that number._

After all, 13 was bad luck.

* * *

**So, enjoying the story? Personally, I felt that this was a weak point in the story, but what did you think? Suggestions and criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around.**


	8. Death At Every Turn

**Okay, sorry for the late update. If you didn't realize by now, I like to have my weekends to myself, only writing when I feel like it. Anyhow, I'm sorry for it, and I hope you understand. Enjoy the following chapter, and feel free to point out any errors or give suggestions.**

* * *

Janis sat perched on her bike, letting the engine go simply for the air conditioning. Her hair, short, wavy, and messy, was blown back by the harsh desert breeze. She looked across the desert, sensing that all that she saw was her own. The sands stretched out eternally, without so much as a single hill to break the monotony. Occasional fractures in the sandstone stretched through the hardpan, leaving bleak scars throughout the land. The sun was at full shine, bringing hellish temperatures down on the desert.

Janis wiped a crop of sweat from her brow, absently thinking just how lucky she had been. She traced her hand over the scars that had been left, knowing that all but the worst of them would fade in time. She slipped a hand down to her belt, once again admiring the swift fortune that left her able to _wear_ a belt without it slipping to her knees.

_Goddammit, where's the other pilots though? _She thought uneasily.

Now that was a thought. What _about_ the other pilots. She had been trekking through the desert for well over a week now, and the only sign of the Alliance she had seen was a downed frigate. No bodies or anything. It seemed impossible that she wouldn't have run into anyone by now, and even more impossible that the Alliance hadn't responded to any of the distress signals.

_God... There has to be hundreds of distress beacons on this planet._

Indeed, how could the Alliance be so blind. When would they respond? How could they not see the combined signal that all these beacons produced.

_Unless there's a jamming device._

"No... No, who the hell would set up a jamming device! Who?!" She shouted into the empty desert. A moment of tense silence followed.

"Calm down... It's okay Jan, it's probably some Blood Pack assholes who got here before the Alliance did. Maybe it was just them?"

_But how does a Blood Pack frigate beat an Alliance Cruiser? _Janis refused to think further into it. She would just scare herself.

Suddenly, Janis had an intense feeling of being watched, of being seen. She took a nervoud glance around, and saw nothing. Still, the feeling only doubled as she looked. As if to punctuate the feeling, the wind suddenly stopped blowing, and intense silence filled the air. All seemed dead and quiet, without a single wisp of wind to break the monotony.

_Just calm down Jan, don't scare yourself._ She thought, yet it did nothing to quell the growing sense of dread.

Janis, despite her self assurances, still did not feel the sensation dispel. In fact, it seemed to double, and then triple.

_Come to me Janis... Renounce your allegiances and come to me..._ A voice, rusty and horrible, echoed through her mind.

"No... No... Get out of my head..." Janis put a shaking hand on the bike's throttle, and twisted it. The bike's engine roared and bucked, the sound drowning the silence and her own thoughts. Panic reared it's ugly head, and Janis fled, letting the bike tear across the endless desert.

_You can't escape me, Janis._ That hideous voice dominated and silenced the engine's roar for a short while, once more drowning her in silence.

"No... No... JUST GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Janis shouted, her voice seeming so distant. Silence greeted her for a short while, before the comforting roar of the engine returned, once more deafening her ears. A decisively better sensation than total silence. She returned her eyes on the desert, and watched the world go by. The desert was completely endless, with nothing to break it.

_I'll be here forever, it seems._

Still, that was a thought for later. Now, she had to just find some sort of shelter before the sun went down. Before, she had survived off a series of overhangs and small caverns. Being away from the intense moonlight was a vitally important aspect, regarding sleep anyhow. It could well be one of the many things that had kept her morale from breaking.

Her bike roared and bucked, it's engine hitching momentarily, before returning to it's normal scream. She glanced at the gauge, and noticed that the engine was running out of power.

_Dammit, where can I refuel on this fucking planet._ She thought, knowing that it would be nigh impossible to find anything on this planet.

"Ugh. Let's just keep on riding." Hair flying back, though matted and dirty, was still decidedly pretty. The bike roared, and escaped into the desert.

* * *

She looked across the desert. The bike was on it's last limbs now, and wouldn't hold out much longer. The battery was slowly dying now, probably running on hypothetical fumes. Yet, hope was not lost. The sun had set, and would return soon. She was tired, but couldn't sleep just yet. In the distance, she could see a massive mountain rising into the sky. It's stony peaks tore into the sky, creating an eternal monument. The mountain itself looked old, maybe even _ancient._ It was possibly a dozen or so miles away, and seemed like a good way-point as any.

"Let's fucking ride." She muttered, repeating the same words she had when she first found the bike.

The bike roared, and continued down the eternal sands. The landscape flew past, but she didn't care.

After thirty minutes or so, she reached the mountain. The bike had finally idled out and died, it's engine slowly descending into silence.

_It served it's purpose._ She thought as she trekked up the stony walls. She climbed upward, one hand questing up, and the other anchoring her in place. She climbed up for perhaps an hour, occasionally stopping to wipe sweat from her brow. Not long after, she reached her goal. A large cavern had been drilled into the mountain's side, looking unnatural and odd.

_Now this doesn't seem normal... How would something like this form?_

Janis averted her thoughts, happy that she had found a place to sleep. She looked around, fitting her low-light visor on her head. Not far away was a small nestle in the cavern's wall, and she crammed into it. She flipped off her visor, and let sleep take her.

Several hours passed before Janis awoke. Intense light poured into the cavern, revealing a huge subterranean network of caves and tunnels. The cavern's main chamber was larger than she initially thought, much larger in fact. The whole cavern seemed unnatural.

_What the fuck is this... How does a cave form on a planet with no rain and hardly any weather?_

"Don't think about it Jan. Just keep walkin'." Janis muttered to herself.

Janis struck out, and began climbing the peaks yet again. Sunlight, seemingly twice as hot, beat down on her. Still, she climbed upward, intent on exploring this mountain.

_Why though? Why do I want to climb this mountain?_ Janis thought, slowly bringing disquiet into her mind.

_Because I want you to._ That voice, horrific drilled through her head again.

Once more, the wind's howl seemed to stop, and silence descended upon her once more.

"No, no, no! Anything but the silence!" Janis knew how preposterous the statement was, but it was out.

The sensation of being watched returned, tearing away at the fragile network of her mind. She felt invisible eyes burn into her, searing small holes in the small of her back. Janis nearly turned around, upsetting her balance and threatening to send her tumbling down the mountainside. Still, she found herself twisting around to look at whatever was staring at her.

_Don't be silly Jan, you'll be fine. Just calm down._ She thought, attempting to dispel her own growing sense of disquiet.

Janis slipped a hand down to her holster, the other anchoring her in place on the mountain.

She was relieved to find that her pistol was still there, and that she had something to defend herself. Slowly, she put the hand back up, searching for a new handhold. Janis pulled herself up, focusing her mind on the mountain instead of the invisible eyes that were tearing into her. A minute passed before she reached the next ledge, and pulled herself up. She rested her arms for a moment, which had seemed to be fifty pounds heavier.

"Just... Just calm down." Janis breathed, no longer trying to comfort herself, but simply talking out of habit.

Janis looked up, seeing that the mountain still stretched eternally. Then, she looked down. She had made much progress, _astonishing_ progress, seemingly impossible strives of distance. Janis breathed a nervous sigh as she continued up the mountain. The sense of silence an disquiet still followed her, but seemed to be fading.

_See, you're just being silly Jan._ She thought to herself, this time with a sense of assurance.

Janis trekked further up the mountain, gradually letting her movement change from a climb to a crawl, and then to a walk. The mountain began to flatten, and the terrain became much more hospitable. The sense of being watched faded, as it had the day before. She trekked further up the mountain, climbing the mountain simply because she could.

* * *

A few hours later passed before she felt that she could rest. She chose a flattened section of land before laying out her backpack. She opened the sturdy leather flaps and rummaged through the contents, disquieted at the shrinking pile of supplies. She pulled out a canister of water, containing about four liters of water. She drank half of it down before slowing her pulls, gradually draining her supplies. She pulled out a canister of nutrient paste, and a spoon.

"Bon appetit" Janis said to herself as she ate away at the tasteless gruel. Though certainly not gourmet, the paste was not entirely offensive. In fact, Janis found an odd pleasure in eating it.

Finally, Janis finished her meal, and looked around. The mountain was eternal, not unlike the desert, and seemed to stand sentinel to _something._ Janis stood up and closed her pack, and continued up the mountain.

Janis took a tentative glance over her shoulder. The sense of being watched had returned, and she felt as if she wasn't quite in control of her actions. She felt an increasingly strong urge to jump from the ledge on which she now stood. She could feel the invisible eyes tear into her, boring into her. Disquiet and tension followed, bringing her closer and closer to the knife-edge of panic.

Janis' feet shifted, and she felt her balance begin to deteriorate. Janis' eyes went wide and dewy, possessing a clearly insane light to them.

_NO! _Her own thoughts broke the silence, and sent a desperate shaft of pain into her head. Janis' feet tumbled over the edge, and her body followed.

Desperately, Janis' arms pinwheeled for balance, and began to fall. They quested and groped for a stable hold, and luckily grabbed onto the ledge. She looked down, and saw the several hundred feet that she would have fallen. She surely would have died if she had fallen.

Her hands shook with nervous fright, slowly losing their tentative grip. Janis gulped, and redoubled her efforts. Her muscles, wiry and thin, stood out, adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her eyes took on a concentrated light. She pulled herself up, well aware of the weight on her back. The pack seemed to gain several pounds, and seemed to be the only thing holding her back. A moment of tense silence followed before Janis took one hand off the ledge. The other was strong, but clearly didn't have the endurance to hold out much longer. Janis unbuckled the straps, and let the pack tumble to the ground.

Janis breathed a hesitant sigh of relief as she pulled herself up. She lamented the loss of her equipment, and got back on the ledge. Silently, she cursed whatever gods or demons were watching her, and continued on.

She walked across the ledge, and finally reached the flat and hospitable terrain that had constituted most of the mountain before her.

"Let's fuckin' move." She muttered, before continuing on.

Once more, that sense of disquiet slowly faded, and her mind became more assured. She walked down up the mountain, feeling both relieved and horrified by the weight that had been lifted from her back. She walked up the mountain, intent on brooding over her loss and making process.

_Something must be trying to kill me._ She thought as she walked onward.

* * *

Two hours later, Janis looked down. She had made significant progress, and was almost at the mountain's summit. Below her there was a whole range of mountains. In fact, they seemed to form a ring of sorts. Janis looked up to the summit, and thought she saw a red glow emanating from it's peak. Still, she walked toward it, intent on doing nothing but walking.

Not long after, she thought she heard the sound of an engine. Janis looked up, to see nothing.

_You're trying to comfort yourself Jan. This planet is dead._ She thought, content on leaving it at that.

Janis kept walking up the peak, once more averting her mind from anything that might bring back the sensation of being watched.

After all, you didn't have to see the monster, if you didn't turn on the light.


	9. Assault

Hannibal awoke. For the last thirty years or so, it had slumbered. Without a vessel to take, and without the hunger that usually accompanied it's slumbers, it had no urge to hunt. Now, it's twisted metal hull roared alight, sending bright rays of violet light throughout it's dark chambers. It's bright red diode screamed alight, and it saw. Hannibal itself was, outwardly, a typical Reaper. A large squid-like being, with a multitude of "legs" spanning from it's back and bottom.

Hannibal stood tall, maybe upwards of a kilometer tall, and was absolutely massive. It's hull was a darkened violet, typical of most Reaper ships. It was large, and battered. It's hull was seared through in several places, and frequent dents punched into the armor, but nothing breached it. One of it's legs hung in a tattered ruin of broken metal, the lower segment barely hanging on by a scrap of metal. It's hull was hooked into the walls by way of massive tendrils of wire.

It's chamber was massive, maybe three times larger than Hannibal itself. The walls were composed of light blue metal, lined with machinery and technology. The walls were alight with flowing rills of electricity, pulsing through the walls and giving them a brilliant look. Hannibal itself was hanging about 600 meters off the ground, and suspended by massive amounts of tendril-like wires. Blue plasma and electricity pumped into Hannibal, the purpose of these amenities currently unknown.

_COME TO ME!_ Silently, Hannibal screamed in a million languages, letting his voice tear absently into the unguarded minds of any unguarded creatures on this planet. Hannibal stayed in place, sending it's telepathic signal in quick, rapid, and powerful bursts.

Hannibal was a Reaper. Like many of it's kind, it fought quickly and mechanically, treating every 50,000 years the way one would treat a full-time job, monotonously and soullessly. It was a valiant fighter, resilient and powerful, capable of wreaking massive amounts of damage. It's creation was fast and spontaneous, it's manufacturer unknown. Like many of it's brethren, and lived and fought for the cycle.

Unlike other Reapers, Hannibal had abilities. Most Reapers hid in the starless expanse, bidding their time and slowly waiting for their time to fight. Reapers relied on their abilities as Starships, with their highly advanced weapons. Hannibal... Was different in many regards. It hid and stalked, not unlike a predatory cat. It chose the planet of Tungel for it's prime cover. It was a huge planet, fully capable of housing Hannibal's significant bulk without raising suspicion. In addition, the planet housed incredibly valuable stores of minerals, a massively useful lure for unsuspecting victims. It possessed a massive magnetic pull, a perfect scapegoat for the frequent times when It deemed it necessary to forcibly pull down a Starship from the stars above. The planet's hellishly hot surface made it barely livable, but still possessed an element strong enough to kill all but the most resilient of people.

Hannibal also possessed an ability. Many Reapers took their telepathy to the extent of Indoctrination, and nothing more. Harbinger could possess certain people, and drill into people's minds. Hannibal, however, had none of these abilities. Instead of Indoctrination, It relied on control. It's massively powerful and unexplained technological prowess allowed It to take over the minds of synthetic beings. When the safeguard of a living creature's mind failed, as in, it died, it could take that as well. These beings, known as the Possessed, sought to do Hannibal's bidding and continue to kill others.

In short, Hannibal was a killing machine.

* * *

Not-Jeff joined with the rest of the horde of Possessed. It was in the heart of the ring of mountains, as were the thousands of others that had followed Hannibal's voice. Not-Jeff's body was a ripped, torn mass of flesh and exposed bone, it's sinewy tissues barely hanging. Blood stopped pouring a good while ago, as was the case with many of the other Possessed currently here. The stony maw of this ring was completely dark and desolate, the ground a mix of stone and sand. Despite the Sun's visibility, none of it's light penetrated these murky depths.

This odd phenomenon was likely one of Hannibal's abilities, and simply a way of keeping the Possessed shielded from it's harmful heat.

Despite the writhing mass of Possessed figures, and the sea of orange eyes, all was silent. No wind howled down here, no sand flew, and all was eerily silent. Not-Jeff wandered aimlessly from area to area, doing nothing but walk. It was waiting for the voice of Hannibal, just as all the others were. Silently, wordlessly, they waited.

* * *

The shuttle was nearing it's goal. In approximately three minutes, they would arrive at the center of the mountain ring. The shuttle's interior was cramped and small, but still comfortable. John Stein, former Alliance Navy, looked to the Asari across him.

"You ready Sara?" John spoke above the roar of the engine, but the concern in his voice was clear cut.

"Don't call me that. And yes, I'm ready." She laughed a bit, then shot him a 'don't ask me stupid questions' look.

"We're going into the belly of the beast, and I hope we get out alive."

"Yeah yeah, I know. Don't worry, we'll make it." Dasara's voice took a hard, determined edge.

John thought briefly of adding _But these things are too strong,_ then refrained. "I trust you. I got your back, and you got mine, right?"  
Dasara laughed. "Yeah, John. Get ready." The shuttle's pilot bellowed over the intercom.

"1 minute til' landing. Get ready Riders, we're jumpin' right into hell!" The voice, clearly Turian, sounded excited. The tone was infectious.

"Yeehaw!" Canus shouted and cocked his rifles.

"We'll rip em' apart!" Xax shouted. His voice thick, excited, and clearly Krogan.

A short amount of time passed before the shuttle reached the first mountain. John looked over his window, and noticed a figure hiking up the mountain. She seemed to be striving for the device at the summit. He pushed the door open, and yelled out.

"Hey there, you friendly?" John yelled, despite his comrade's protests.

The figure turned around, clearly feminine, and stuck out the middle finger. A moment later, the both of them were laughing.

"Hey pilot, let me talk to her."

"Sure John, we got fuel." The shuttle eased down next to Janis.

"Who're you guys?" Janis asked, a hand on her pistol.

"My name's John. Who we are... That doesn't matter. Anyhow, we're going to the center of these mountains. What's your name?"

"Janis. And I'm just goin' to the peak. What's at the center of this ring?"

"Your worst fuckin' nightmare. You wanna join in?" John seemed hopeful, but inwardly, he was desperately hoping she'd say yes. He just didn't like that the mission crew consisted of thirteen people, he hated that number. Janis seemed to consider it, then responded.

"Nah, but I'll ride with ya for a little." John's hopes were adequately dashed, but he let her in anyway.

"Got a little crush, John?" Canus shouted.

"A little bit immature Canus, just focus on the mission." John laughed for a bit, then looked out the window. The shuttle was moving now, and would get to the center in a matter of seconds. The shuttle eased off, and soon was above the target.

John's eyes widened as he saw the mass of orange eyes below. Massive amounts, _astonishing_ amounts of Possessed were down there. The shuttle eased down, and John noticed the moving mass of orange eyes freeze and slide up to meet the shuttle. Hundreds, maybe thousands of eyes were staring directly at them. The shuttle's doors opened on either side, and people started to clamor to the edges.

"Good luck Sara." John blew Dasara a 'good luck kiss' before reaching for his own gun.

"Don't call me that." Dasara muttered before firing a flurry of rounds into the writhing mass of eyes. John followed suit, and fired a massive amount of slugs into the ocean of eyes. John saw the horrific eyes turn bright red, an enraged and terrifying color, as they screamed simultaneously. The blood-curdling sound tore into their ears, ripping their concentration apart.

All thirteen people were firing now, only Janis sat still, her hands clapped over her ears. Six were firing from the starboard side, and seven on the other. Their rounds tore into the massive horde of Possessed, doing substantial damage to their ranks. Their screaming broke their cool focus, turning their aimed firing into panicked shooting.

"KILL THEM ALL!" Xax screamed as he discharged another thermal clip.

The shuttle eased down, previously a hundred feet off the ground, now a mere fifty, then twenty-five. The Possessed were now trying to leap onto the shuttle now, and lowering them any further would be _extremely_ risky. Everyone paused for a moment to slip on their low-light visors before resuming their fire.

"It's time to ride the handsome, you possessed bastards!" Canus shouted before jumping directly into the face of hell. The others followed suit, first Ferash, a Batarian soldier, then Xax, and then John himself. Within moments, all but two people had jumped out, only Janis and the pilot remained.

"You gonna follow lady?" The pilot asked.

"Nah, but drop me off near here, these bozos might need help."

The Turian grinned, though Janis couldn't see it. "I'll do ya one better, I'll pull you up. You decide when we leave."

Janis nodded. "Sure."

Down below, the group of thirteen were facing the hordes of hell itself. An army of undead, and a see of orange all sprinted to them, and the Riders put them down. John fired off ten rounds into one such monster, and found that it would not die. He backed up, and bumped directly into one of the Possessed. He screamed and threw himself to the ground. He grabbed his Phaeston and discharged his remaining clip into it's Krogan figure. The Possessed Krogan screamed and charged for him.

_I'm fucking screwed._

Moments before the Possessed Krogan would have shattered every bone in his body, Dasara discharged a volley of rounds into it's armored skull. It dropped to the ground, smoking and writhering.

"I told you I got your back!" She shouted, laughing, as she tore into the horde of Possessed.

John got to his feet and rejoined the fight, silently admiring how she could be laughing at a time like this. He looked over as he saw a Batarian get overpowered and torn into by a pack of Possessed.

"NO!" John shouted as he tried to discharge his clip into the enveloping monsters. Alas, his efforts were in vain as the Batarian was ripped into fleshy shreds. Canus looked down at the fallen body and said a silent prayer as he attempted to move toward it. John fired a concussive shot at a running horde of Possessed, knocking them back and possibly saving the life of a young Salarian engineer.

Dasara uttered a deafening shout as she discharged wave after wave of Biotic energy. She slammed down one of the Possessed monsters, knocking back three others. John noted that one of the bastards was creeping up on her. Adrenaline pulsed through him, and the world seemed to slow down. He discharged a wave of rounds, each one tearing through the Possessed's body. The monster was knocked back by the massive volley, and fell to the ground, smoking and dead.

_I got your back, Sara._ He thought, moments before an icy hand tore through his shields.

John was thrown onto the ground, only slightly aware that he had been struck. He fell to the ground, his armor dented and damaged. He looked up to see a single solitary orange eye staring at him, the other hanging on a sinewy thread of flesh. The Possessed jumped on him, using what used to be Turian claws to tear into his armor.

John scrabbled for his pistol, and brought it up. He discharged a round into the Possessed Turian's armored carapace, but doing little noticeable damage. The Turian tore into him, now getting through the last layers of his armor. He fired another flurry of rounds, and was well and truly panicked when he heard a dry click instead of a deadly roar. The Turian didn't stop as it tore into him. Blood flew from John's undefended flesh as the Possessed Turian ripped him apart. He screamed in pain, and desperately hoped this would end. He looked to the side, and saw another Possessed rushing to him.

Flame licked out from an unseen source, and an explosion of force, massive and powerful, threw the Possessed into the sand. John immediately got up and looked to his rescuer. Xax met his gaze, and grinned as best as a Krogan could.

"You owe me, Human." He shouted above the roar of the gunfire before returning to his slaughter. Together they fought, united in their cause as they tried to exterminate the threat.

Despite the brave efforts of those thirteen soldiers, there were far too many of the Possessed for them to ever win. Their goal never was to kill them all, but to simply uncover their objective. They needed to know if Hannibal was truly reawakening. Hundreds and hundreds of the Possessed battered their ranks, slowly reducing thirteen to ten, and then ten to five. Their flank collapsed, and the remaining survivors began to flee toward a nearby network of caves.

They split up and sprinted in different directions, but three distinct figures sprinted for a nearby cavern.

Janis looked down at the slaughter below, and screamed in panic and terror.

"They're getting torn apart! We have to help them!" Her voice was a desperate babble now, and she was on the verge of tears.

"Take this lady, save their souls. They're good men." The Turian pilot left his seat to throw her a shield generator, as well as a Phaeston assault rifle. "Do some damage." He muttered before returning to his seat.

"Will do." She said, moments before jumping down to the ground. She fired a volley of rounds at the horde of Possessed, and hit the ground with a thud. She chose a direction, and ran, narrowly avoiding the questing claws of several Possessed. She sprinted toward the other three who were also fleeing, and sprinted after them. She fired bursts of rounds as she shouted, and tore apart the oncoming ranks.

She ejected a clip and eventually met up with the panicked three. She followed them and ran backwards, firing rounds as she did. Eventually, the three made it into a narrow cave. The Asari woman turned around and put up a strong biotic barrier to hold back the tide of Possessed. John stumbled to the ground, hitching in weak pulls of air. He pulled a syringe from his storage compartment, and shoved it into his neck.

"You... You're the one on the shuttle." John breathed, still panting.

"Yeah. I couldn't let you guys die down there." Janis herself was quite exhausted, but refused to rest just yet.

"We... Need to go. Now. I can't hold the barrier much longer." Dasara breathed, her speaking labored and weak.

"Let's go. We can run down the cave." Xax muttered, his chest hitching in breath after breath.

"What about Canus, and who did he go with? We can't leave them!" John was on the verge of panicking again.

"LET'S GO! I can't hold... On much longer..." Dasara seemed to be on the verge of passing out now. John nodded, and let Dasara push back the shield with intense force. A wave of biotic power pushed back the horde of Possessed, tearing them apart and giving them some time to run. John grabbed onto Dasara's side and helped her run. The four of them sprinted into the network of caved below.

John turned back, letting Dasara run on her own, and threw an incendiary grenade into the sprinting horde of monsters. A wave of bright fire tore the monsters apart, reducing them to smoking, charred remains. John returned to his run and sprinted down into the network of caves, leaving any remnants of caution behind.

They reached an open chamber in the cavern about five minutes later. Xax turned around and threw a frag grenade at the open entrance into the cavern, and let it blow. The walls caved in, blocking any Possessed that would wish to enter. With that, the four of them paused to catch their breath. John sat onto the stony surface, grimacing at the fresh pain of his wounds. Xax paused for a moment, then also fell to the ground. His scaly skin was charred and cut, and he seemed to be badly wounded.

John shot a concerned gaze at Dasara, and was happy to note that she was relatively unhurt. She was tired, very tired though.

"Get some rest Sara, we'll contact Canus and see if he made it out." John's voice was sincere, almost reverent.

Dasara muttered something that might have been "Don't call me that" and fell deep asleep.

A minute passed before another voice broke the silence.

"Well, someone's in love." Janis' voice was both teasing and desperate, possibly scared.

"Oh shut up." John seemed too tired for this banter, but refused to rest.

"The human's right." Xax, in his usual gruff tone, agreed with Janis.

"Shut up, both of you. I just care for my partner, is all."

With a grin, Janis muttered under her breath. "That's what they all say."

John heard that last remark, but decided not to counter it, he was too tired for it. Slowly, he removed his helmet and drifted to the ground. In full armor, sleep was uncomfortable and strange, but still manageable. John let his eyes droop, and fell asleep.

* * *

When he awoke, he found that somehow, Xax and the other had gotten a fire going. Dasara was still sleeping peacefully, understandable, considering just how much strain she had undergone. Janis grinned to Xax, and he returned it in kind, though the result looked more like a snarl than a smile.

"Good sleep?" She asked, an undertone of laughter under her voice.

"Yeah..." John let his voice trail off, clearly aware of her tone.

"I thought so. Y'know, you talk in your sleep." John wondered just how they could maintain such a friendly tone, knowing that hundreds of monsters were above them.

"What did I say?"

"Oh, a little something about your friend over there." Janis pointed to the sleeping Asari not far from him.

John knew the battle had been lost, and that he was experiencing verbal defeat. "Oh really?"

"Mmhm. A little bit of romance, and a little bit of fantasy. You have _such_ vivid dreams."

John shrugged his shoulders and let a nervous smile bloom on his lips. He said nothing, but the silence was far from awkward, it was in fact, cheery. John took a glance around, and glanced at his sidearm. He ejected the thermal clip, amazed that the weapon itself had not cooled by then.

"How long was I out?" John asked absently.

"'Bout two hours." Xax grumbled.

"What about Canus, you find him?"

Silence descended on the three of them, and this time it was a mile away from cheery. Janis responded.

"Xax tried to contact him three times. We got nothing each time. I hope it's just that we're in a cavern."

"It has to be, Canus is too tough to get put down by these miserable bastards." John paused for a moment, took a look at Dasara, who was still asleep, but looked somewhat troubled. "What about the shuttle?"

"Again, no. Probably just the mountain." Xax grumbled. Silence descended, bringing another uncomfortable moment on the group.

"What about escaping, how're we gonna manage that?" Janis broke the silence.

"We could go the way we came. That's pretty much it." Xax grumbled.

"That's a deathtrap. So we're stuck." Dasara spoke, her voice surprising the three others.

"How much did you hear, Sara?" John asked.

"Enough. How many times do I have to tell you, don't call me that. My name is _Dasara._"

John grinned, and returned to the conversation.

"What if you put up a biotic shield and held them back long enough for the shuttle to carry us away. You're strong enough for it."

"I don't know John, it's awfully risky, and I'm still tired."

"Come on, we don't have to try today. We got enough supplies to camp out for awhile, we can wait."

Nervously, slowly, and hesitantly, Dasara agreed. "Alright, I guess we can wait. Thanks John, and we _will_ get out of here."

But inwardly, Dasara was just as nervous and uncertain as the rest of them.


	10. Lost In Darkness

"I'm sorry Canus... I... I..." The Salarian's voice trailed off, barely more than a whisper. "I can't make it... Tell her... T-t-tell..." The Salarian's voice was barely audible, just barely being picked up by Canus' enhanced translator. "_I love her._" The Salarian spat the words, as if it hurt to speak them, and closed his eyes.

"Don't die on me..." Canus, normally so loud and vivacious, was at a loss for words. His voice was faint and quiet, not unlike the voice of the dying Salarian.

"Goddess take me..." The Salarian's voice was an inaudible mumble, just barely picked up by Canus' translator. Canus looked at the Salarian for a moment later... Then he was alone. The Salarian went silently, and wordlessly.

Canus was angry, furious in fact.

_FUCK YOU HANNIBAL!_ Shot through his mind, and repeated like a broken record.

Canus paced back and forth, not bothering to pray for the Salarian's soul, he was far too angry for it. He muttered curses under his breath, only bringing him closer to the razor-edge of madness. Raw emotion tore through him, reducing every remnant of the structured and calm Canus that led the Desert Riders.

_Dammit! Why did they have to die? WHY?_ Thoughts like this and many more tore him apart, bringing even his voice to an emotional babble.

"Why did they have to die? They were good men..." Canus felt the anger rising like black bile in the back of his throat. He screamed his throat raw, some words understandable and many more not. His mandibles moved endlessly, quivering and shaking as he uttered the most vile phrases that came to mind.

"Dammit... Xax, where are you? Where are you?" Canus knew he couldn't blame the Krogan for this, he knew it well. Still, such a thought didn't stop him from hating him. "John! I trusted you? How could you leave me?" Canus was doing little more than screaming now, his pacing stopped and his words indecipherable. "What about you Zarak? You said you had my back? WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"Where are you..? Where are you? Where are you? _Where are you?"_ His voice slowed and quieted... But the fury underneath was unmistakable.

He sat in the darkness for an untold amount of time, doing nothing but lean against the stone wall. He thought of the people he had lost, and how they died. He thought of his life, previously so carefree and open. He thought and spoke, cursing the names of the dead, even if he knew that he could not precisely blame them. Most of all, he thought of why they came here in the first place... Such a forsaken place, clearly a deathtrap.

_Because Hannibal wanted me to._ The thought, once seeming so ridiculous, but now seeming much clearer. _It knew you would be a problem._ But why? He was nothing more than a simple Turian, trying to make a living on a forsaken planet. _You know more about It then you let on._

"No...No...No I didn't lead my men here to die... I didn't do this..." Canus started to sob... Only the third time he had ever done it in his life.

"I didn't kill them! I DID NOT KILL THEM!" His voice hitched, and he began to feel more and more desperate. An emotional spear shot him through, sending a thin ache through his armored carapace. "Fuck me..." He uttered, letting the raw power of emotion bowl him over.

He thought back to the battle, and it's rigors. It had gone so well in the beginning... So well...

* * *

_Canus fell to the ground perfectly, on his feet and gun in hand. He soon began firing, tearing apart the rushing hordes of Possessed. Hours seemed to pass like that, him shooting and fighting in solitary. In reality, merely three seconds passed before the next soldier dropped next to him. He was deep into the blood-rage, not unlike a Krogan. He eviscerated the hordes, doing massive damage but killing few. He looked over to see a grinning Batarian, standing next to him and shooting with him._

_ "I got your back!" He shouted over the gun fire. Such a pipe dream._

_ Gun smoke filled the air, mixed and combined with the hideous stench of decay. He wondered how meat could rot on a sterile planet... But wonders never ceased, did they?_

_ Canus looked over his back to see his soldiers fighting in kind, almost every on of them wearing a massive grin on their faces. Such a slaughter. He returned to his own fight, mowing down a row of the Possessed before popping the heat sink. A warm, hot burst of steam drifted into Canus' sinuses, smelling of burning metal. A foul, yet beautiful scent._

_ Then... Things got bad. A soldier's weapon overheated, but he fired nonetheless. The monotone drone of an A.I. Filled the air, but heard by no one but the soldier._

_ "Weapon overheating- Eject heat sink!"_

_ Yet, the soldier paid no heed and continued firing anyway._

_ "WEAPON OVERHEATING"_

_ Moments later, the gun exploded in his hands. The weapon should have stopped firing on it's own... But buy cheap and get cheap, right? The soldier fell to the ground, his fore-arms little more than blackened stumps and his armor destroyed. The Possessed descended on him, devouring his flesh and drinking his blood. It didn't take long after that for things to go from bad to worse._

_ A young Asari was attacked next, narrowly avoiding death as another soldier saved her life. Then, an aging Batarian was torn into, overpowered by a massive horde. Canus paid little attention at the time, under the heavy influence of Blood-rage, but in retrospect, he saw everything with amazing clarity. From there, the firing arc was limited and more and more soldiers died. The flank collapsed, and he was sent fleeing. Canus sprinted away, moving northeast. He turns to witness another soldier get his throat ripped, and turns. A Salarian loped after him, first falling behind then pushing ahead._

_ That was the Salarian's downfall. He ran ahead, directly into the arms of a Possessed. Moving too fast to slow down, it is grabbed and bitten. Blood spurted everywhere, warm and fluid, but is soon absorbed into the sandy-stony ground below. The Salarian screamed in pain, and Canus barely managed to gun down the Possessed to save the Salarian._

_ Canus grabbed the Salarian and pulled him into a nearby cave, and blew down the entrance. He wrestled with one wounded Possessed Batarian before knocking it to the ground, and blasting away it's brains. Immediately, Canus turned to the Salarian and bandaged the wound. Despite his efforts, the Salarian's fate is only delayed as blood spurts through the rough bandaging._

* * *

Canus always had an Eidetic memory. The image was crystal clear in his head, almost like a Hi-Def movie. He winced at the images, and dispelled them soon after. His emotions ceased to bother him, and he felt anger and tragedy fade to cold calculation. His men were dead, or dying, or worse... One of them. No use moping over it, it was time for action. He checked his omni-tool, hoping for a radio signal. He looked to the corner of the screen, and saw something.

_A bar! Yes! Thank the Spirits!_

Hopeful, Canus attempted to contact the base. He waited for a good while, trying to connect the signal. Unfortunately, after two tense minutes... Nothing happened.

_Damn... I have to enhance the signal._ He thought. Yet it didn't quite occur to him _how_ he could manage it. Still, he had to get it done, and no use fighting it. With fresh hope, and despair at bay, Canus wandered further into the cave. The network was fairly straightforward, one tunnel, relatively straight, constantly descending at a regular pace. The cave was completely dark, but his visor kept things at a decent light level.

The going was quick and painless at first... But good things must end. A half hour of walking passed before he came to the first chamber. It was a small thing, but leading from it's northern and eastern faces, were separate tunnels. After a brief foray into both, he found that they were not interconnected.

"Spirits protect me..." Canus muttered as he traveled into the northern cave. He walked down ever further, slowly feeling more and more disheartened as the cavern became more winding and complex. The tunnel also began to get smaller and thinner. It was, at first, barely noticeable. Now, he had to lower his head to walk.

_It's fine... I'll just go back once it gets really bad._ As Canus thought it, another thought struck him. _But when it gets ugly, it's hard to go back._ He didn't acknowledge that one.

He wandered for a few more minutes before the cave reopened. It opened into a large chamber, significantly larger than the last. It was composed of dark stone, as the rest of the cave had been, but something seemed different... The whole thing looked... false.

_I don't like this..._

He wandered further into the cavern, and began to feel watched. Loneliness and despair set in, and he felt his previous good cheer fade away. He glanced behind his back, not seeing anything and simultaneously seeing everything. He was being watched, he was positive now. The feeling was bad on the surface, but here... It felt much stronger.

Canus' eyes flitted from corner to corner, watching for any and all invisible eyes. He looked around, feeling the sensation double... And triple. Nervous vibrations pulsed through him, turning his mind to the knife's edge of panic. His eyes darted, faster than ever, and were convinced of the invisible eyes that gazed at him.

_Calm down Canus!_ He couldn't appease himself, and he began to feel ever more afraid.

He picked up his Phaeston and popped the heat sink. He inserted another clip and continued walking, this time his pace much faster than before. By the time he reached the next tunnel, one of six, we was sprinting.

_They're following me! THEY'RE FOLLOWING ME!_

His mind was in full flight mode now, and was evidenced as he sprinted as quickly as he could. His chest, metallic and plated, hitched up and down rapidly, causing slight pain and discomfort. He took no notice. The air was getting harder to breathe, much thicker and stuffier. In addition, it seemed to take a strange... Heat.

Canus took a look behind him, but saw nothing. Slowly, the sensation faded and he felt his sense of security return.

"See... You're just panicking Canus. Calm down, you'll get through this."

He spoke the words, but he didn't agree with them.

Hours passed and he made camp. He had wandered for what felt like _centuries._ His legs were sore and weak, and he was tired. His weapon seemed to gain weight with every step, and he _had_ to put it down. He dropped the weapon on the floor and dropped to the ground. With some hesitation, he fell asleep. His sleep was weak and fitful.

* * *

Canus heard something... A shout? A scream? He let his eyelids flutter open, though he was still fatigued. He looked up in the darkness and turned on his visor. He looked up to see the glowing orange eyes of a Possessed.

"Spirits save me!" He shouted as he got to his feet.

The Possessed grabbed him by the cowl, making use of the Turian's natural curves. He pulled back, but the thing's grip was like iron. He brought one armored fist down into the Possessed's face. The blow was hard, massive in fact. Blood, thin and foul, sprayed from It's nose at it crumpled. Still, it would not let up. Canus felt the thing's grip intensify, and tried to desperately push It off.

Canus pushed it back, putting all his strength into the attack. Though he had intense strength, he succeeded in doing little more than upsetting his own balance. He fell to the ground, a scream on his mandibles as he fell. The Possessed tore it's claws into him, the first strike breaking the shields. The energy pulse upset the Possessed's balance, and Canus took his opportunity.

"Spirits..." He muttered as he slammed a fist into the Possessed's face.

"Curse..." He shouted loudly as he threw off the Possessed.

"YOU!" He screamed it loudly, the noise reverberating endlessly as he kicked in the creature's skull.

"FUCK YOU!" he threw the Possessed to the side and picked up a Phaeston. With a desperate grunt, he brought the gun down on It's face, crushing in several bones. He struck again, and again, and _again._ It's skull was little more than red mush, and it was the farthest thing from alive, yet Canus still felt compelled to do more. He took the gun, and pumped thirty rounds into the base of It's skull.

The recoil was immense, massive, and almost uncontrollable. _Almost._ Making use of a resevoir of strength he didn't know he had, he held the gun in his arms as he tore the thing apart. Normally, the rifle was completely recoil-less, but perhaps his melee assaults had damaged something.

Still panting, Canus relaxed his grip _slowly._ He kept the gun bared, ready for another assault if need be. He looked at the tunnel, knowing exactly where they would come from. Two minutes passed, and he heard nothing.

"Okay... Okay. I just need to keep walking... I just gotta keep walking." Canus walked back down the tunnel, slowly and silently considering what to do.

Another hour passed, and then another. It took seemingly forever for Canus to reach the next chamber, a massive thing. He stood on a stone ridge, overlooking the chamber. The chamber was huge, absolutely massive.

_That has to be a mile long!_ He thought as he began his walk. He looked down over the edge of the ridge, but even with his low-light visor, he saw nothing but darkness. Canus shuddered imperceptibly, and continued on his walk.

Little did he know, Canus was far, far away from the entrance chamber. He was in fact, over twenty miles away from the mountains themselves. In short, he was out of the frying pan...

...And into the fire.


	11. Escape From Hell

John paused. He had been fiddling with his omni-tool for a while, and had just decided that nothing would be done if they didn't leave soon. The signal was long dead, and would continue that way if they didn't leave. He looked up to face his comrades. Xax was doing his usual weapons check, cleaning his Claymore and calibrating it. Janis was huddled by the fire, shield generator off and looking vulnerable. Dasara was testing her biotics, currently doing little more than telekinesis. He had enough food and water for three days, as well as some similar amenities. Xax and Dasara had the same, as they were wearing different variations of the same armor. Janis had lost her own pack, she explained, and was forced to dip into our supply pool.

_No matter, we wouldn't be here for more than two days._ He thought, fully knowing that he had said it four days ago. Food and water was running low, yet they hadn't done anything but bide their time. _That ends now._ He thought, this time with determination. He got up, leaving his omni-tool for a while.

"Dasara, you ready to move?" Dasara stopped for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes. Xax, Jan, get ready." She beckoned the other two, and picked up her equipment.

"What's the plan." Xax grunted.

"Simple. Dasara will put up a biotic barrier, one that will keep the Possessed back, but still allowing us to fire our weapons, in other ways, a one-way shield. That means you_ have_ to stay with the group, or you'll get ripped to shreds." John looked around, but saw no doubt or fear on any of their faces.

"I won't be able to hold the barrier for long, which means that we need to do this right. If we fail here..." Dasara didn't finish the thought, and instead shuddered.

"Grab your guns pardner, we're gonna wipe this town off the map!" Janis spoke with an imitated John Wayne drawl, almost disturbingly carbon.

With that, the three of them grabbed their guns and bared them, while Dasara holstered her own. John shouldered his Phaeston and aimed down the sight, safety off and heat sink fresh. He was ready to kill. He looked and saw Xax calibrate his own shotgun, and Janis doing the same to her rifle. Holding back the army of undead would be essential, both to thin their damn numbers, and to keep the barrier going. Like a kinetic barrier, a biotic barrier weakened with every impact.

Xax fired a concussive shot at the tumbled pile of rocks and upset the solid wall. The stones shuddered and fell to the ground, revealing an open path. The four of them walked through it, and into darkness.

And in the darkness, orange orbs floated hauntingly.

With a shout, both of terror and fury, Dasara put up the biotic barrier. A solid wall of blue energy was placed between the haunting Possessed and the soldiers. John brought up his Phaeston and rained death on the horde, attempting to tear each and every one of them apart. He looked over and saw the Xax was doing the same, and Janis was launching grenades from her weapon. The horde was solid and powerful, but not quite powerful enough. Under the sustained fire, the group of six was reduced to smoking rubble.

Dasara continued onward, not affected by the weight of the barrier just yet, one hand upholding the barrier and the other holding a heavy pistol. The four continued up the path, all the while John attempted to establish a radio signal through his omni-tool. He managed a single bar, flickery and weak. Not quite strong enough to reach the base. Another pack of Possessed bastards ran at them, throwing their weight onto the powerful barrier. The group gunned them down and continued, trying their best to make it easy on the young Asari.

Moments later they were in the main chamber, and they faced the full force of the Possessed. Their ranks, combined and massive, slammed into the barrier. Immediately, John brought up his omni-tool and was relieved to find that another signal bar had appeared. He immediately contacted the base, frustrated and terrified at the time it took for the call to make it.

"John? John is that you?!" The voice of a Batarian answered the call, mentally John noted that his name was Kerash.

"Kerash, we've been camped out in a cavern for awhile. We need an immediate evacuation!"

"You got it." Moments passed and Kerash left the phone. In the background, he heard someone yell for a shuttle pilot. Kerash returned and picked up the phone. "We?" He sounded hopeful and excited at the same time.

"Yes! Four of us! HURRY." With that, John deactivated his tool and picked up his rifle. Moments later he rejoined the fight and attempted to hold back the tidal wave of figures. There were many of them, almost _massive_ amounts of them. It seemed, in fact, that there were as many as twice the number they had faced upon arrival.

"Goddess..." Dasara groaned as the weight of the barrier doubled under the strain of the Possessed. Time no longer passed in minutes or hours for her, it passed in _seconds._ The world travelled by at a torturous rate, bringing her to her knees. Pain began to tear at her mind and body, bringing a vibrant ache to the center of her skull. John turned to see her, offered her a look of deep and tortured concern, but he never stopped firing his weapon.

John kept firing, occasionally popping the heat sink, but never fully stopping. He no longer aimed, just shot away round after round. His vision was narrowed, his eyes slitted shut against the rapid bursts of fire coming from the barrel. Janis had ceased throwing grenades, and instead focused on tearing the horde apart with her gun. Xax was dangerously close to the blood rage, but had kept shooting anyway.

A loud electronic ding filled the air, loud enough to interrupt the roar of gunfire. John brought up his omni-tool, firing blindly with the Phaeston in one hand as he did so.

"The shuttle will be there in five minutes, can you hold?" Kerash's face was riddled with fear, his eyes only growing wider as he saw the devastation behind the vid screen.

John looked to Dasara, who's face was contorted in pain, and her arms wavering. "Waste fuel, please, but we won't hold any longer than three. Just get here quickly." John didn't wait for a response, it would be damning. He continued firing rounds at the horde, occasionally launching concussive shots at the horde. Despite the combined efforts of the three, they had an extremely difficult job in keeping them from attacking the barrier.

"John! Help... Me..." Dasara groaned, the barrier flickering as the weight increased. John opened his suit's storage compartment and took a canister of Red Sand. The drug was illegal and normally banned for the Riders, but John figured they might need it. He opened the canister and flung a cloud of it onto the ground near Dasara.

"Hold on Sara, just a little longer."

In spite of herself, and the massive pain which crippled her mind, she grinned. "Don't call me that." The barrier's strength redoubled, sending an electric shock that pulsed through and fired the waves of Possessed that held onto the barrier.

To Dasara, holding the barrier was something akin to holding up a weight that only got heavier. Her body strained under it, and her mind followed. Pain followed such massive efforts, and often made her feel fatigued and exhausted for days afterward. Still, she was willing to risk anything and everything if it meant they could escape.

John and his crew kept up the fire, but sensed the inevitability of their tasks. Dasara began to move backward, and the they followed. Gun blazing with an intensity that could only be achieved under such stress, they kept their gunfire steady. Xax screamed and came ever closer to the blood rage. Never mind Dasara, if Xax couldn't control himself he would surely endanger both him and the group.

_C'mon. You need to get here soon!_ John's mind flared with concentration as he thought.

Another wave of Possessed had sprinted at the barrier, ripping away at the dense shield.

"Goddess... Help me..." Dasara struggled and waned. She fell to her knees, one arm still holding the barrier and the other limp at her side. Pain tore her mind apart, weakening her considerably. A red tinge formed at the corner of her vision, and she began to lose focus.

_NO!_ Her mind screamed, bringing back the concentration. The barrier flickered back to life, repelling another wave of Possessed.

Still, despite all this, despite everything they had undergone, less than a minute had passed. Dasara was weakening rapidly, and even with the aid of addictive narcotics would not be able to hold up much longer. Seeing no other alternative, and whether that was a result of his survival instinct or his own twisted sense of honor, he turned to his pack. He pulled out a second canister of Red Sand, his only remaining canister, and threw the contents at his feet.

An odd sensation flooded his brain, a feeling of calm. For the first time in that battle, he stopped firing his weapon. Instead, of pulled up an orb of biotic power, and launched it at the storm of Possessed. The singularity tore the monsters apart, parting a sea of dead flesh.

He looked up at the barrier, and channeled every inch of his new-found power into it. Dasara breathed a sigh of relief as she fell to the ground, unconscious and weak. Immediately the immense weight of the barrier fell on his mind and body. It felt as if he was lifting five hundred pounds _at least._ Xax looked briefly at him, but never faulted in his gunfire. His eyes held the distinct red-orange tinge of rage.

The barrier seemed to gain weight, stressing him more and more. John soon began to feel pain in his mind, a _ripping_ sensation. He screamed in pain, but kept the barrier up nonetheless. He looked over at the unconscious Asari, and noted that he well and truly _did_ love her.

Such a stupid emotion, love. It left a person defenseless and weak, and made him let his guard down. It strained them in combat, and tore them apart on leave. It made people prone to jealously and anger, and could lead to worse. Still, to John, this was more than that, it was _inspiration._ He redoubled his efforts and ignored the pain, intent on keeping her safe.

Xax screamed and attempted to charge out of the barrier, but was barely held back by Janis. The gunfire ceased for a moment as Janis calmed him as best as possible. Some of the enraged light left Xax's eyes, but it did not leave completely. It never did. Jan resumed to firing rounds at the horde, Xax merely tried to avert his eyes, as if the sight of such an adversary would bring back the blood-rage.

Dasara opened her eyes for a brief moment, and mouthed "thank you" at John, who barely picked it up on his translator. She closed her eyes, too weak to even keep them up for long. A ping erupted from John's omni-tool, sending a reverberation of pain through his head as the spear of new sound ripped him apart. Without breaking the energy flow, he activated the tool.

"John! Are you using... Biotics?"

"Yes. Hurry." John breathed, his voice strained and tiny. Pain was tearing him apart, bringing him close to death.

"The shuttle will be there in one and a half minutes. Hold the line."

John didn't respond, and left the tool online. The barrier had put on what felt like a thousand pounds, and it was tearing him apart. A thin rill of blood trickled down his nose and the corner of his mouth. His head was burning with amazing fire, horrible and beautiful all the same. He wouldn't be able to hold on for any longer than ten seconds, let alone a _minute._ Intense pain brought him down, throwing him to the ground as the pain ripped his mind apart.

One arm up and the the rest of his body limp, he held up the barrier. The shield was flickering uncertainly now, and it wouldn't hold up much longer. Xax had lost his sense of control, and ran screaming into the horde. Janis had popped the heat sink and struggling to find another. Dasara was on the ground beside him, one eye open and the other squeezed shut as she tried to get up.

_For her sake... Keep it up..._ The voice was weak, but it was his own nonetheless. He struggled desperately to keep the barrier up, expending every last iota of strength for it. His arms were tearing themselves apart, and his mind was not much better. John pushed himself up, expending oceans of willpower and worlds of strength, but he'd do it all for _her._

Love, as stupid as it could be, was his inspiration. He held himself together when he wanted to die, he kept up the effort when he wanted to give in, and he defended her when he had no shield to do it with. Pain would bring him down, and love would bring him back up.

Dimly, he noted that Xax had abandoned his weapon and was instead ripping he horde to pieces with his fists alone. Janis kept firing, though she was also getting weak. The barrier was massive and heavy, and seemed to be just over the 5k mark. Still, he would double the weight if it would keep her alive.

Xax fought them back with the raw strength of his Blood-rage. He dimly saw that his gut had been ripped open and organs were falling out, but he had redundant organs. He noted that blood poured from him by the liter, but he had gallons more. He wouldn't die until they did first, he was Krogan, and he shouted it to the world. He shouldered the brunt of an oncoming attack and countered with a powerful sweep of his fist, obliterating the skull of the possessed Turian.

_Damn turians._ The thought was lonesome, and his only thought as he ripped the horde apart.

Another incoming sweep of talons, but this time he was too slow to block or dodge it. He felt the back of his neck rip apart, but he paid no mind. He turned and delivered a powerful punch straight up it's jaws. With another bellow, Xax screamed.

"I...AM...KROGAN!" He charged relentlessly forward, paying no mind to any new wounds that were opened.

Janis had ceased trying to shoot her weapon, and had instead attempted to engage in open combat. Her omni-blade flashed as she delivered a killing blow, tearing apart the chest of one of the Possessed. Her eyes were slitted shut and her arms were tensed, she did not want to get her neck ripped open and she didn't want to see her nightmares in the questing eyes of the Possessed. A blue shine flashed out: Her knife. She ripped into the horde, now relying on pure instinct to pull her through. The barrier was still upheld, but not for long.

John's eyes rapidly grew dim, and his efforts were failing. He had exerted any and all remnants of strength in trying to save Dasara, but he regretted nothing. He would do it all again if it meant she could be safe. He was out of time and begging for more, but he couldn't manage it. The barrier flickered once more before flashing out permanently. The Possessed rushed for them, but they would fail.

Xax, even in this most primal of states, was still dimly intelligent. He turned from his charge and went forward to save the two downed squadmates. Pain tore him apart, not unlike everyone else in the group, but he pocketed it and continued. He threw the monsters aside and picked up his Claymore. He would die before they got to them.

Janis noticed Xax and sprinted back to her post. She picked up her Phaeston and got to shooting, aiding the old Krogan as he fought. The Possessed were closing in fast, and would have them soon. Janis looked down to see a Possessed Volus, likely an ancient remnant from a downed merchant ship, charging for her abdomen. It grabbed and ripped her stomach open, sending sick pain tearing into her.

_So... Close..._ She thought as unconsciousness took her.

Xax stood solid, alone in a field of death. He was sure that the fleshy beings beside him would meet their ends soon, but not before he did. They were his own, not unlike the Krogan of his clan. He fought desperately, shells flying and heat clouding his eyes.

The sudden roar of an engine filled the air, tearing apart the roar of gunfire. Xax looked up with one eye, and saw a shuttle coming down. The shuttle turned and rained down plasma on the horde of Possessed, and cleared a landing zone. The doors opened and a squad of soldiers poured out.

"Go Xax! GO!" Xax snapped out of the blood-rage and scooped up the fragile fleshy beings in his arms. He sprinted for the shuttle, not minding the length of intestine that hung from his opened stomach. The questing hands of the Possessed reached for him, tearing at his carapace.

Hours seemed to pass as Xax ran, three humans in his arms and his shotgun abandoned. Pain tore him to pieces, and he fell to the ground. A Vorcha walked up and scooped Janis into his arms, and the other soldiers followed suit. Soon, the four of them were in the shuttle and the squad rejoined.

The shuttle went for the skies, darting up as rapidly as possible. Yet, even as it took off, not everything went as well as could be. A Possessed launched it's bulky human figure onto the Shuttle, breaking into the cockpit. Screams of terror and gunshots rang, and the shuttle continued it's climb. The shuttle made it into the air and flew rapidly, activating the afterburners and the boosters.

Xax looked with the light fading in his eyes. Pain was gone and all was warm. The shuttle stank of blood, but he paid no notice. It was time to be taken by the gods themselves, and he would not go with resistance. He looked to his comrades and felt no regret.

He had done the right thing, and he knew that much.

* * *

**Author's note. So, I had a ton of fun with this segment of the story. Did you like it? Please tell me.**

**Thanks, yours truly,**

**[ENTER NAME HERE]**


	12. Escape From Hell (2)

"What the fuck...?" Canus had wandered for days now, but to him, it had seemed like years. His suit's battery was running low, his foodstuffs were being carefully rationed, and he ate about half a meal a day now. He had few supplies remaining, but plenty more to walk. He looked over the tunnel, seeing an immense flood of blue light. The stream of light had been dim first, then rapidly grew larger and brighter.

Now, Canus stood at the mouth of Hannibal's chamber.

_Spirits... Can it really be true?_ Canus' thoughts were slow and panicked, almost deliberate. He had remembered sending his troops here, under the pretense of defeating the Possessed hordes. He knew then and he knew now that it would be impossible to wrest control so easily... What he had come here to do was to destroy the jamming beacon that had suppressed the distress signals. In fact, he wanted the Alliance's help. He had never believed that Hannibal was truly awakening. He believed that he- _It_- was real, but he didn't think that it was awakening.

Yet, now he stood in Hannibal's chamber, looking at the giant reaper. It stood tall and huge, easily capable of destroying a planet or two if it needed to. What's more, the laser diode that powered it's main weapon was shining bright red. The Diode, it's eye Canus presumed, turned to face him. It looked and assessed for awhile, simply looking at it's new target. Then, more lights came on. Two more diodes, smaller and dimmer than the first, but still quite visible, opened up. The two were exactly symmetrical to each other, and both were placed diagonally upward. Two more opened, this time level with the other two newly lit diodes. Finally, two more opened. All in all, Hannibal was sporting seven eyes, each one capable of launching a beam strong enough to rip apart a city.

Hannibal watched the target with it's seven eyes, assessing Canus with cold, machined calculation. Then, it powered the beam. Canus stood dumbfounded, simply staring into the red light as he heard the hum. The beam was powering.

_MOVE!_ His thoughts screamed, and every instinct urged for him to run. He was standing on a long metal platform, one that could float and move with unparallelled ease. This platform, hexagonal and attached to a plethora of others, could easily get him out if he needed to.

He sprinted to the right, running with a speed he didn't think possible. Immediately, hunger and fatigue struck him like a hammer, but he paid no mind, he just ran. Hannibal's beam shot, fast as light and twice as bright, and tore apart a massive amount of the platforms. It followed Canus' path, easily capable of chasing him down and vaporizing him if need be. Canus switched direction, running diagonally away from the hideous beam. The beam still followed him, and he made a desperate dive toward the beam. He passed inches away from the beam's horrific stream, but still felt the heat of it alone tear his kinetic barrier apart and fry his armor.

The beam stopped it's terrible scream for a moment, and Canus took action.

"Spirits guide me!" He shouted as he ran for the control terminal. He took it and got the platform in motion. The thing was fast, very fast in fact. Still, the Hannibal's massive figure had to be at least three or four miles away. This would be difficult. Hannibal's beam charged, and fired. The beam narrowly missed the platform at first, but rapidly adjusted it's aim.

Canus took evasive maneuvers, risking both his and the platform's existence to avoid the beam. Nevertheless, the beam still slammed into the platform full force, ripping apart the hull. One of the propulsion systems went down, and the platform took an odd tilt. Still, it held in the air and the beam stopped moments after.

Canus breathed a sigh of relief as he redoubled the platform's speed and tried to get closer to Hannibal. Now, two of it's seven eyes lit up bright, the two on the farthest edge, and began to cast orange-red bolts of energy at the flying platform. The heavy shafts of energy slammed into the platform, and narrowly missed splitting the stoic Turian in two. The platform pushed forward, still taking and avoiding impacts whenever possible. Now, the two eyes in the middle of Hannibal's terrible "face" brightened. Bright purplish-blue orbs of energy slammed out of them, a sharp contrast to the glowing red diode. The energy bolts were fast and dangerous, slamming the platform apart.

The machine began to whirr in a very... Damaged way. The platform was on it's last legs now, and wouldn't last much longer. Another blue energy bolt crashed into the platform, this time not far from where Canus was standing. He was thrown to the side, his visor cracked and his shields down as he began to slip away. He stumbled for a handhold, but alas, the smooth surface was unblemished and perfectly crafted. He turned back to see another platform approaching, this one filled with the unmistakable figures of the Possessed.

Still, despite the danger they posed, it was worth a shot. The platforms moved closer to each other as Canus scrabbled for something to grab. Finally, he came directly over the edge, and found comfort in the ruin of a shattered railing. He grabbed it and held for dear life, desperate to not look over the edge. He turned back, his head straining to see the incoming platform, and saw that if he didn't pull himself up, he would die here.

Meanwhile, Hannibal primed it's main laser, intent on finishing the job. It had released a decent number of it's thralls at the exposed Turian, intent on finishing it before it could pose a threat. It lobbed it's powerful beam at him as he dangled over the edge, the color a livid red. The powerful beam shot out and crashed into the platform, steadily moving ever closer to the dangling Turian.

Canus looked and was terrified at the red beam that came closer and closer to him. The way he saw it, he could jump and fall an unknown number of miles to the ground, or he could stay and get vaporized. He looked behind him, straining his head to see behind it's cowl, and decided. He took a deep breath of too-thin air, and jumped down. He went quickly, falling faster and faster and gradually reaching terminal velocity. The beam had missed him by mere inches, but that was little concern. He was in freefall, and time passed slowly.

Canus hit the ground with an _extreme_ impact, a hit that by all rights should have killed him instantly. He felt bones fracture, his plates break, and his armor shatter. Nonetheless, he was alive... Or would be for a little bit longer. With little time to react, he used the suit, or what remained of it, to quickly administer emergency medi-gel throughout his body. Pain seared away at him, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of unconsciousness. Still, he couldn't go at a time like this. Half a minute passed, time that seemed to last for centuries of horrific torment.

Finally, he began to feel relief as the suit auto-applied medi-gel all over his wounded body. He breathed a sigh of relief, and minutes later, he felt nothing. The risk in what he had done was massive, absolutely huge, but it didn't change that it had saved him from sure death. Now, he had to move. The oxygen level down here was little to none, and he would have to rely on his stored oxygen tank. He was lucky in that he possessed massively powerful cybernetics, capable of saving him from almost anything. _Almost._ Still, as good as they were, they were also expensive and easy to burn out.

He felt heat rising through his body, a minor but very uncomfortable thing. Still, it ended moments after. Now, he looked up. Platforms would be crashing to the ground, and it would be best to get out of their way when they did.

_How will I get out of here?_ Canus wondered, knowing full well that he had abandoned any possibility of escape when he jumped. With a heavy sigh, he walked on.

He came to the smoking ruin of a downed platform. Unlike the ruins he had seen before, this one still seemed usable.

"Spirits... I'm saved." Canus muttered, unable to say anything more.

Against all normal Turian protocol, he started to run, draining valuable supplies and wasting energy. Nonetheless, the voice of his training never reached him as he sprinted with uncanny speed. A minute later, he reached the platform. He inspected the damage with the cold and calculated thinking only a Turian could manage.

_Engines nominal... Only superficial damage. Plating wasn't hit by any Reaper tech, probably just EMP'd by another exploding platform. Terminal isn't fried, battery isn't damaged, but is drained. I could fly this thing!_ Canus stepped behind the terminal and booted the machine up. Effortlessly, the platform climbed into the air, and Canus breathed a sigh of relief at the massive _deus ex machina_ that had saved him.

He piloted the machine with effortless ease, and flew up. The machine flew rapidly, easily controlled in his hands. Not long after his initial start, he came back up to face Hannibal. This time, Canus knew he wouldn't get a second chance. He flew the machine directly toward Hannibal, fully intent on breaking through Hannibal's tough laser diode. He knew there was no real purpose for this, and that he _had_ to leave soon, or he would die here. Still, a silent voice, almost an instinct commanded him to. It was the very antithesis of Hannibal's sinister voice, something warm and comforting.

He stared directly into Hannibal's diode, and bared his weapon. The diode was dark and dim, as if Hannibal was asleep. Again, he marveled at his own luck as he flew directly into it. He was mere meters away when the diode snapped lividly awake. Canus knew that he had acted stupidly... But something had urged him forward.

_You'd do well to remember that I have eyes everywhere, Canus. I am a God here, and you are swine. Now die like swine._ A voice, whether it was Canus' own or the hideous voice of Hannibal itself, tore him apart with terror.

A bright and horrible beam shot forward, tearing apart anything and everything in it's way. But, Canus had been lucky. The beam missed him by mere inches, and he had taken every advantage that came his way. He leaped forward, grabbing onto a jutting piece of ruined metal that hung from Hannibal's wrecked hull. He pulled himself up and pulled out his Phaeston.

_I have eyes everywhere, Canus._ The voice repeated a split second before a dense beam of energy slammed into Canus' armor. He was thrown back by the force, and pain seared into him as his newly formed plates were hit by powerful energy. Still, he refused to die here. He fired a burst of rounds into Hannibal's laser diode, damaging, but not breaking it. The other eyes snapped awake, and the two innermost eyes glowed the fiercest. The bright and livid glow only swelled and charged.

Finally, a burst of red energy erupted, starting directly from Hannibal's awful metal face. The shock wave tore his shields and armor apart, and sent him flying. Yet, even in the air he knew he could not die yet. He braced for impact and grabbed a jutting piece of metal to avoid falling back onto the ground.

_I'm disappointed I let you live even this long, Canus._ Hannibal screeched in it's toneless and genderless voice.

Hannibal came fully awake, and it flew up. A metal ceiling door opened, and with it, a mountain of sand and stone moved out of the way too. Hot sunlight poured into the cool chamber, and with it, blessed oxygen. Canus' eyes seared with the new light, but he rejoiced all the same.

In spite of his new pain and joy, he forced it all aside and climbed back onto Hannibal's hull. He crawled along and came back to the laser diode. He shot another fifty rounds into it, but Hannibal's awful voice only laughed.

_You're a good enemy, Canus. More than I've ever known. While I should destroy you, and Harbinger undoubtedly wants me to, you've been entertaining. Besides, your misery sustains me._

A pulse of red energy enveloped Canus into it, taking him into a fold of painful, searing hurt. Heat melted away at both his metal and organic armor, making him scream in pain. A minute passed of this torture, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of death. Then, moments before he would have expired, he was flung outward, and cast into the desert. Hannibal sunk back into his chamber, contented with what he had done to the stolid Turian.

_Spirits... What the fuck just happened. _Canus wondered, still awestruck by Hannibal's existence alone.

He had no time to wonder, however. He knew that much. He put up a distress beacon once he got a reasonable distance away from the site, and called for help.

The beacon was slow to be answered, but it was answered nonetheless.

"Hello?" A voice asked before the vidscreen set itself up.

"Kerash? Is that you? Never mind, this is Canus. I'm very badly injured and need immediate medical attention. Send a shuttle, _please._" Canus spat the last word out as pain fought for dominance in his head.

"On the way!" Kerash deactivated the line and called a shuttle.

Canus looked up to see a pack of Possessed, just two or three, running at him. Spirits knew he had no strength for a fight, but he had to survive this. The Riders needed him, he was sure of it. Besides, he wanted to live.

In spite of himself, he managed a grin and picked up his rifle. He fired a massive volley of rounds at the sprinting pack, each shot accurate and deadly. One of them went down and the angry light left it's eyes as the other doubled it's speed. Canus threw his rifle to the side when he realized he was out of thermal clips, he picked up his heavy pistol. He gunned down another of the three, unfortunately expending his last clip.

The remaining monster sprinted at him, and glared into Canus' exposed eyes. Nightmares flashed through his mind, ripping it's already degrading sanity into tiny fragments. However, the effect may have been less than optimal for Hannibal's sake. Sudden and terrible rage tore through Canus' mind as he leaped onto the Possessed. He tore out it's throat, unnerved by the lack of blood that spewed forth. Still, the enraged Turian tore the Possessed apart.

Minutes later, Canus stood alone in the desert, covered with scraps of bloody flesh and minute quantities of blood. He looked up to see the shuttle coming at him, it's unmistakable blue hue getting ever closer. The doors opened, and a small crew of troops came out. They grabbed Canus, and hauled him into the shuttle.

"Goddess, we didn't think you made it Canus. I'm glad to see you're still alive." A fresh-faced Asari looked at him with concern.

"It... Hurts..." Canus could manage no more, and fell unconscious.

"Oh grow a quad Canus." He heard a Krogan shout, before he fell deep into the murky remains of sleep and unconsciousness.


	13. Recovery

Janis awoke with a start, she had been injured badly, split from end to end. She had essentially been disemboweled, and had nearly died to it. Ironically, despite this horrific damage, she had been the least injured of all of them. She had lost a fair amount if blood, and her organs had to be put back inside her, but she had survived it all. With a blood transfusion and a lot of medi-gel, she had recovered.

Xax had sustained the most injuries, severed damages that would have killed anyone who didn't have the strength or determination that he had. His front plate had been ripped off, and the flesh underneath torn apart. Most or all Krogan feared such an injury, as it could easily kill them. Still, Xax had endured. His armor had been literally ripped off him, and only small scraps had remained when the shuttle came for him. The plates, capable of absorbing rounds easily, had been torn through and torn off. He had lost a hand to the monsters, had been gutted and had his chest ripped open. He lost organs, one of his eyes were split open, and he had stared directly into the face of death. Yet, Xax endured. His leg had shattered, but he walked. His arm had broken, and yet he fought. He was crippled with pain and drenched in his own blood, yet he still worked.

Xax had suffered the worst of them all, and was still in the critical room. Yet, the doctors were sure he would make it.

Dasara had been a natural biotic with plenty of raw talent, yet she had sustained damage. She suffered severe tissue damage, mostly the muscles and tendons in her arms had ripped. Luckily she had managed to receive quick medical attention and was scheduled to recover from it. She had come close to the edge, but had managed to keep up the barrier.

John had discovered that he was a biotic during this time. His talent had been mostly restricted to basic telekinesis and moving slightly faster. Yet, when he had thrown the cloud of Red Sand at his feet, he had amplified the biotic signal into a workable ability. He had no training, no stimulation, absolutely nothing to prepare him for the shit-storm that lied ahead. His arms had been torn to shreds by the new energy that coursed through their muscles and tendons, and to a big extent his bones. What's more, he had suffered a severe brain rupture that knocked him out. When they split his head open, they discovered it and carefully repaired the damage. He had nearly died there, but was still saved. Recovery would be a long process that would last up to a month, even with the advanced medicine stored here. In addition to extensive brain damage, both his eyes had split open and leaked optic fluid. Medi-gel had been unable to save his eyes, but a lengthy and dangerous transplant brought them back. Though John was still out, he hopefully wouldn't question where the Riders got human eyes.

Canus had sustained many injuries that even his cybernetics weren't able to repair. His bones were still fractured and several vital organs had been punctured. He had survived off adrenaline alone for the duration of the battle. In addition, the week he had spent down there had left him malnourished and dehydrated. His muscular structure and nervous system had sustained severe damage, yet he might make it. In addition to all this damage, he had also undergone a certain degree of indoctrination. He was insane and babbling when the shuttle picked him up, but he had survived. Despite every injury he sustained, he had a good chance of making it. With a good while of therapy, even the indoctrination could be reversed. Overall, the outlook was good for him.

The squad had suffered losses and injuries, and while they were lucky to have survived, they had still lost plenty. Of the thirteen man squad, only four had survived. Even that number would likely have been reduced if Janis hadn't made her fortuitous appearance. The shuttle had suffered severe damage, and it's pilot had only barely survived. Luckily the co-pilot had taken over after stabilizing his wounds. Dasara didn't remember much of the battle, a side-effect of her extensive biotic duress. John didn't remember anything, and would likely suffer from short-term amnesia until his brain was repaired and therapy undergone. Xax had lost much of the battle in the haze of blood-rage, but remembered most of everything that happened before. Canus had forgotten his own descent into darkness, likely a result of indoctrination. Janis was the only one of them who could accurately recall what had happened on that fateful day.

_Damn. I'll have to remember to pester John about him and Dasara. I wonder if he even remembers her?_ Janis' thoughts were still slurry and slow, but they were still he own thoughts. She forced a wan smile to her lips as she lay in the hospital bed. She was in slight pain, but the morphine had taken care of most of it. She looked at her stomach, wincing inwardly when she saw the disfiguring scar that had been left. It wasn't a straight line, in fact, it was much more jagged and rough then most scars. It was a jagged bolt of pinkish scar material that stretched across her entire stomach.

"Well, there goes my sex life." She muttered, and let a smile touch at the corners of her lips. She looked to her left. Across from her were Dasara's and John's cots. They both looked damaged, but John had definitely took the brunt of the damage. Dasara looked to be in pain as she slept, occasionally biting her lips and wincing. John had a blank look on his face, not unlike something you'd see on a coma patient's face.

She took a brief look at the critical status door, silently hoping for Xax's survival. The Krogan had saved her in so many ways, especially once the shield dropped and they were left undefended.

"Please God, let him live through this..."

* * *

Janis laughed as she sat at the bar. She had been on this planet for little under a month and a half now, and was homesick. Nevertheless, the Riders were good company and she enjoyed her time here.

"Hey Vesuvia." She said as she looked at the female Turian. "A shot glass of whiskey, Levo-amino don't forget."

The Turian chuckled as she grabbed a glass. Normally she would have demanded payment, but she was glad to have the squad back. Even if she was a fleshy and fragile human, she had done _something_ to keep Xax and Dasara alive.

"Sure Jan, comin' right up." She poured the glass, careful to check the coloration of the glass beforehand. She poured in the whiskey, happy to see Jan's face melt into a comfortable smile. Quietly, the turian poured herself a brandy.

"A toast. To the Riders!" Jan was comfortable with this group now, she had been bunking here for just over a month now. She watched with satisfaction as Vesuvia clinked her glass with Jan's. A contented grin rose on Janis' face as she drank down the liquor. Normally she didn't drink, but she did enjoy the burn as the whiskey slid down her throat. She looked back at the group. There was only one other human on-base, and before now, she hadn't known any aliens. Now, she regarded this group as her friends. She grabbed another whiskey and drank it down, relishing the burn.

* * *

Xax had indeed survived all that had came his way. His organs had been replaced, even the redundant ones, and he received a heavy blood transfusion. After a few injections, even the crippling pain faded away. Now he walked the halls, feeling glad to be both alive and a hero. The base had an air of depression, full of remorse for their losses. Now, that sensation had faded and it was replaced by the usual sense of camaraderie.

He stepped into the range, happy to see that it was mostly empty. He picked up a rifle and set up at the fifty-meter mark.

_Spirits... Make my aim true._ He thought as he unleashed an extremely heavy volley of rounds at the target. Bullets tore the target apart, breaching the shielding layer of pelting the metal underneath. The target writhed under the hail, it's humanoid figure slowly getting ripped to shreds. The metal plating it wore was ripped off by the storm, and the gelatin-like surface underneath was exposed. The flurry only persisted, ripping apart the "flesh" underneath.

The acrid, sour scent of gunsmoke filled the air, a scent that Xax had learned to love. He popped the heat sink and continued firing. He stripped away the target's armor and promptly destroyed the target underneath. With a content grunt he moved to the 100-meter mark.

Hours later, he left the range. Like many Krogan before him, his main interests were in combat and violence, but that didn't mean he didn't have a soft side. He marched off to his room and opened the door. He turned to his terminal, the keyboard much larger than that of a Turian's or Humans. His clunky hands were made to kill, not type. He brought up the interface and opened a document manager.

_Kill, kill, kill them all!_

_ Make the bodies fall!_

_ Drop em' dead and blow off his head,_

_ We're gonna kill them all!_

He typed, merging his interest in writing and his interest in violence into one great topic. Though his writing certainly wasn't particularly good, he still liked it. It made it easy to express any violence he might have directed at a squad-mate otherwise.

For a Krogan, life on the base was good.

* * *

John sat on his bunk, hands laced behind his head. He wondered what to do with himself. Dasara was very observant, had a very good memory. He vaguely remembered openly confessing his love to her... Such a stupid gesture. At heart he was not a romantic, and whether it was the increasing tension on this planet, the fact that he hadn't had any... Relations ever he had since crashed here, or whether it was genuine feelings for the Asari, he felt like he had an attachment to her. Tensions were running high as Hannibal prepared for... Something. He had also suffered from the tense atmosphere, finding his temper ever easier to snap, finding his love of liquor resurfacing, and perhaps worst of all, finding himself avoiding Dasara in the halls.

_Just go out and tell her... Worst case scenario, she rejects you and you play it off as a "last minute to live revelation." …But what if she says yes?_ John's mind raced through scenarios, taking the worst possible case and drilling it through his mind. He wondered what _if_ she said yes.

_I'm no romantic, and what would I do? Sure, I'm a soldier, give me a gun and I'll kill whatever you want... But in love, I'm a blubbering idiot. What would happen? We have an awkward dinner or two and she sees me for what I am? ...And what if the Alliance came back, it would be easiest to leave while I'm not attached. Dammit, I don't even know if this even is love..._

_ Dammit! Stop acting like this John, you're a grown-ass man, not a twelve year old schoolgirl. Man up and face her!_

Despite these thoughts, it was little more than a fantasy. He knew nothing about romance, and was sure he would blunder. He wanted nothing more than to make this simple.

_Damn... I wish I knew my way around these things..._

John sighed, whether in desperation or in exasperation, he didn't know. He just wanted clarity, he just wanted answers. His hands knotted high on his chest, he slipped down and laid himself straight on the bed. He wanted sleep... His mind did anyway, he wanted nothing more than sweet oblivion for the next eight hours. Still, he wasn't tired and wouldn't be tired for a few more hours. Another sigh came through, this one clearly disappointed. He just laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling and wondering what to do with himself.

"What to do, what to do...?" John wondered, letting his mind wander.

"Grow a quad and face her!" John jumped as he heard the doors hiss open. Xax walked in a moment after. "You want to request mating rights from her?" His voice, gruff and rough as ever, sounded oddly comical under these circumstances.

John stared dumbfounded for a moment, then burst out laughing. What made it so funny was Xax's obvious sincerity and seriousness. He laughed, filling the room and corridor with the cheery sound. He laughed until thin tears carved tiny rills down his face and he was clutching at his sides.

"What's so funny?" Xax's face was comically puzzled, his tone irritated.

John laughed even harder, and he kept laughing until his sides began to burn. Finally, the sound petered out and John recovered.

"Sorry Xax, it's just that your species can be so _funny_ sometimes." John's face had a happy grin plastered onto it. Xax winced at it... John was not the grinning sort, and when he did, he looked slightly mad.

"Funny? Funny?! I am Krogan, I am a top hunter! You should be terrified." Xax's irritation was replaced with game participation.

"Yes... You are indeed Krogan, Xax."

Xax uttered a short bark of a laugh, and returned to the previous topic. "So, about Dasara. You wish to mate with her?"

John felt another laugh rise up to his throat, but he suppressed it. "Xax... I don't know if it's so simple, but I guess that's how you would interpret it."

"Ha! I knew it!" Xax sounded triumphant at John's response.

"Any ideas?" John asked, not hoping much from the gruff Krogan.

"Grow a quad and ask her. How hard can it be?" Xax was once more completely serious.

John sighed and got up. He had a feeling that, though certainly not what most friends would say, Xax was right. He _should_ just ask her. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He didn't let himself think of that possibility. "Alright Xax, we'll do it your way. I'll ask her. Wanna come with?"

"A chance to see a human courting? How could I miss it?" Xax followed gamely, remarkably silent for a creature of his size and strength.

* * *

Dasara wasn't in the best mood. Her mind was in a flurry of confusion and irritation. She remembered John openly admitting his attraction to her during that suicide mission. However, she could have sworn he was avoiding her when she saw him. He never waved when she said hello, he never acknowledged her presence when they were on the range, they never even had any real social contact, other than a few carefully exchanged greetings. Even those were far and few between.

Though she was only barely in her Maiden stage, only around 133 or so, she was sure her feelings were more than true. Young as she was, she wasn't stupid, she knew her own mind and the labyrinths it held well enough. She was socially acute enough to understand that John was indeed avoiding her, and she knew enough of the human species to know that Asari-human couples weren't even close to taboo.

She was sure that she could reciprocate the feelings he had for her, if he'd only show them. They were playing a game, now, she was sure. Both sides too afraid to expose themselves, lest they find their emotions struck and broken. With a sigh, Dasara turned back to the table, currently occupying herself with an Omni-Game. She believed it was called "Commander Shepard's Galactic Stories" or some other equally stupid title. She played around as the legendary commander, gunning down Husks and destroying Reapers with a gaudy-looking plasma cannon.

_Oh John... You adorably nervous fool._ She thought as she shot down another Husk armada.

She watched as Commander Shepard's armored suit was burned, shot, exploded, and melted, yet it always emerged undamaged. With a flick of the wrist she tossed a grenade into the horde of running Husks, tearing them apart. The game was so terribly repetitious and droll, but it was busywork and she bore through it.

Minutes passed with her simply sitting by the lounge, doing nothing but watching the screen and occasionally tapping at the screen. Then, she happened to look up and see John walking toward her. Oddly enough, it seemed that Xax was following him. John stepped forward and pulled up a chair. He sat down across from Dasara, and was pleased when she lowered her omni-tool.

"Hi John, what are you doing here?"

"Hey Sara, I came to ask you something."

Dasara felt hope slowly rising up, enough so that she didn't acknowledge that he had called her by a pet name. A thing she almost despised.

"Yes?" She asked, letting her voice remain nuetral.

"I was uh... I was wondering if you want to ah... Catch a drink maybe?"

Dasara let a smile pull at her lips as she watched the human blunder. He was no romantic, obviously, but it was almost... Cute to see him blunder like this.

"What are you asking?"

"I'm ah, asking if you want to ah, hang out?"

"You mean a date?" Dasara asked, letting the _slightest_ bit of excitement rise in her voice. She looked and was pleased to see a thin layer of blush show at his cheeks. It was adorable to see him acting like this. It was as if there was a whole other layer of him behind the gruff soldier that she served with.

"Ah... Yes. Wanna go get some drinks?" He asked, trying his best to keep calm.

"Sure John, sure." Dasara laughed and followed him to the bar.

* * *

Canus wandered his base's corridors and hallways. He was definitely glad to be back, and glad to be not dead. He was staring at another month or so of therapy, but he was still happy. He had suffered bad injuries, and he was still walking around in a cast. Nevertheless, he was perfectly fine with it. He had payed a big price, but it was worth it to see his team unwinding and relaxing after such a traumatic event. The Riders had suffered severe casualties ever since the Alliance fleet crashed down, maybe a quarter of the whole team had been killed to get here, but nevertheless, the Riders were stronger for it.

He wandered into the farms, looking at the extensive rows and rows of botanical planters. Crops were growing quickly, most of the food here devoted to Levo-amino crops, but a the rest was dedicated to crops found on Palaven. In short, Dextro-amino foods were also grown here. Life was good in the fortress, and hopefully they would last for awhile.

But if one thing was certain, there would be issues later down the road. Perhaps it was his time with Hannibal, or maybe it was some sort of odd intuition, but something told him to assault Hannibal's mountains again. The intuition told him that it would be dangerous, but that he needed to. He knew that the ancient machine had a jamming device nestled down in the caverns below, and that was the real problem. Hannibal itself was extremely powerful, much more powerful than he could ever imagine.

Canus knew that when he had faced off with the Reaper, it had gone easy on him. He had seen Reapers level entire cities, ripping apart entire platoons. Besides, Hannibal itself had told him that it enjoyed watching it suffer.

_Destroying that jamming device would probably speed up Alliance action. They haven't reacted yet, which is strange. Maybe they don't know where the Cruiser went down... But destroying that jamming device would probably speed up the process. As much as I hate the Alliance, their ships and artillery will be very useful in taking that damn machine down._ He thought.

If one thing was certain in this whole mess of mystery, there would be trouble ahead.

There was always trouble ahead.

* * *

**A/N**

**Yeah... A chapter mostly full of fluff and nonsense. I'm not used to this, so please tell me how I did. Was the dialogue awkward in any way? Were the responses odd? Please, do give me any and all hatred you have pent up for me. Alternatively, compliments work just as well. Whatever ya got for me, let it loose!**

**-Thanks. Yours truly,**

**[ENTER NAME HERE]**


	14. The Alliance

**A/N**

** Ugh, sorry for the late upload for those who care. I had the internet blues. Anyhow, I'll make it up to you somehow!**

* * *

Finally, after two months of inactivity, the Systems Alliance took action. They had lost a cruiser and a carrier, as well as a multitude of other ships during an engagement in the Herschel System. About 44,591 soldiers went MIA, and over 61,000 were declared dead. Families were still grieving their losses, the council was still berating them for it, yet they had remained inactive. Part of it was the fact that the Reaper war and it's toll on the Alliance's military. Part of it was that Hershel System was completely overrun with slavers, pirates, and mercenaries. Another part was the lack of free ships. Still, the ultimate factor that had kept them away was Tungel's reputation itself.

The planet was something akin to the Bermuda Triangle of Earth. It constantly pulled ships in, and when it happened, no one was ever found on the surface. Slavers were said to operate on the hellish planet, though rumors never were a good source of information. Truth be told, the Alliance was afraid of the planet. Too many had died there, even when there was peace in the galaxy. It seemed like a bad idea in general to head there.

Yet, after two months, the Alliance relented. Grieving families, coupled with a certain amount of angry politicians had managed to produce a political shock wave string enough to force the Alliance into action. Despite the lack of troops, ships, and supplies, they had sent two frigates to investigate the planet. One such frigate was a combat ship, capable of destroying anything smaller than a full-sized cruiser. The other was a transport ship, typically used for hauling cargo. It was re-implemented and to be used as an evacuation vehicle for any survivors on the ground.

So the ships flew. The SS Rogue and the SS Excelsior flew to the Herschel System with one goal and one goal only. They were _going_ to pull those soldiers out of the literal frying pan that was Tungel, and they would do it for the Alliance. If they died, they would die fighting to the last breath.

Hannibal would make sure of it.

* * *

Captain Mary Jackson was the model soldier. She was obedient, smart, and very, very resourceful. She was a born leader, full of courage and strength, and upheld a modicum of responsibility for her men. She led a firing team of eight, herself included. These soldiers were die-hard loyal to the Alliance, possessed a fine edge of training, and had been honed during the course of the Reaper War. The firing team had originally consisted of twelve, but people die and people leave, don't they.

She walked through the corridors in a basic outfit, black boots, white-black shorts, and a lightly armored over-shirt. Upon her head was a deep, crimson red shock of hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The dark shade was a grave contrast to her pale and freckled skin. Her eyes were white ovals with a thin blue iris. Her pupils were unnaturally small, little more than a tiny pinprick of black. Her mouth was a vibrant and natural shade of pink, her lips full and luscious. She was beautiful, but those who had tried to use it had achieved little more than a punch in the face.

Captain Mary Jackson wasn't one for fraternizing, and even less fond of romance. She was a hard person to like, impossible to love. She responded to pick-up lines with the same, tired response. Endlessly, monotonously she would warn them once and punch them twice. In truth, it was always so... _Tiresome._ Rumors had circulated that she was a lesbian, rumors Mary didn't care to disband. In fact, it was kinda nice to go to the lounge and not get hit on.

She stood at just over 5 feet and 8 inches, and the body below it was slim and pretty. She exercised often and left her body in that firm and muscular shape. She enjoyed VR's and Omni-Games, particularly the dating simulators. Though this was one fact she kept to herself. Once every month she read a book, mainly just to keep her intellect as well as her body firm. Captain Mary Jackson was a solitary figure, a person who kept to herself whenever and wherever possible. She got up early so she could shower alone. She took her meal at midnight so as to eat in relative solitude. She had her own quarters, so as not to share bunks.

In short, Captain Mary Jackson was one tough bitch.

Mary came to her squad, who had gathered in a small crew-quarters area. The eight others looked at her with some measure of reverence, fear, and trust. She had led them through well over two years of warfare, and had few casualties to show for it. Sure, she had pushed them hard and had left them weak and hurt before, but that was always for their sake. They knew that much.

"Hey guys. I figured I might as well debrief you on what we're doing once we reach the ground." She paused for a moment and looked at her data pad. "Once we touch down, we'll be evacuating any Alliance pilots and soldiers in range. A lot of ships went down here, _Geth_ ships too. Expect resistance, and get ready. We'll be protecting the cargo ship that's flying beside us, and we're to _keep_ it protected. Once we touch down, every last bit of defense that this ship has, will be worthless. The cannons can't fire down there, so it'll be up to us. Now, chances are there won't even be any resistance. Maybe there won't even be any survivors. If that happens, we just get paid and move on. Understood?" She looked across the room and saw no confusion or doubt on their faces.

"Understood, Cap. We done here?" One of the soldiers, Peter, said.

"Yeah. Dismissed." Mary let them go, while she herself returned to her cot.

Six hours passed, and they reached their target. They were in orbit of the planet now, a massive, brownish-gray orb of material. The terrain below was dry and sandy, with plenty of rocky mountains interspersed between the deserts. The sun beat down on both it's surface and the two frigates.

_Yeah, this will be just great._ She thought as she dressed.

Mary walked down the halls, continuing on to the armory. She stepped into an arming pod and let the machine do it's work. A minute later, she stepped out in full armor. She walked to the hangar and met her soldiers. All eight of them had arrived before she, some of them had set up card games while they waited. Outwardly, Mary Jackson was displeased, inwardly, she was proud of her troops.

"Ready?" She asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes sir!" The soldiers shouted in unison. Mary grinned, and stepped into her own drop pod. They were to deploy onto different parts of the planet and scout out the terrain before anything. They would test the planet's gravity level, the existence of any distress signals, and life signs. A simple mission, but a mission that could go wrong in so many ways nonetheless.

Mary went first, letting her pod fly out of the shuttle. The pod came down hard, it's shields burning up as she slid further into the planet's atmosphere. The pod's interior was cramped, really nothing more than a metal coffin if the thrusters failed. The barriers continued to sizzle as intense heat beat down on them, slowly ripping away at the pod's meager defenses. She looked to the monitor, and saw that the barrier was degenerating at an extremely fast rate.

"Something's wrong here... The shields are draining too quickly." She murmured, her voice unheard amidst the scream of the barriers. She looked at the altitude, and saw she had barely entered the stratosphere. The barriers were supposed to hold up until they hit the ground...

"Something's wrong here." She repeated, this time louder. She hit a switch on the monitor and practically screamed.

"The scans were wrong! My barriers aren't holding up, DO NOT LAUNCH! Do not launch!" She shouted into the monitor, seeing the look of concern on her soldiers faces as they watched her.

"We can't hear you Captain! Say again!" One of them shouted back.

"Do not launch!" She shouted, moments before the barriers exploded.

The pod was just barely under troposphere when it happened. A wave of electric energy shook the pod's interior, but that was the worst of her concerns. If the thrusters melted before they could kick in... No, she wouldn't think about it.

_Screw the scans! I need to get out of here!_ Panic overtook her, and she acted on her concerns. She pressed a couple buttons on the monitor and attempted to launch out of the pod.

"Damage detected. Lock-down protocol activated." The toneless voice spoke, somehow drowning the awful noise as the pod flew down.

"No! NO!"

Mary tried to disengage the lock down, but was too late. Moments later, the pod hit the ground with a massive explosion.

* * *

Darkness and cold hit her like a sledgehammer. Mary awoke in total blackness. Not a moon or a star was out tonight, and all seemed grim. Somehow, her armor had survived the blast and so had she. Her barriers were permanently fried and her visor was cracked, but she was alive. The armor had seared in many places, leaving odd yellow burn marks and blackened patches, and the battery no longer functioned, yet she still thanked whatever gods had spared her.

She looked around in the blackness and saw nothing. Still, she had to do _something. _Mary looked in her storage compartment, happy to find that it's interior remained undamaged.

She took out a flashlight, rendered obsolete by low-light visors, but this was why she carried one, right? She flicked it on and immediately felt raw panic well up in her throat. She had crashed in the center of a ring of mountains, the _exact_ center. While that was fine, the hundreds and hundreds of corpses that surrounded her were not. She looked from body to body, feeling wave after wave of revulsion and terror rip her apart. A scream rose to her throat, but she bit it down, sending a spray of blood into her own mouth.

The corpses were everywhere, and so was the blood. There was so much of it... Mary's body shuddered involuntarily as she looked around. If there was one thing that horrified her the most, it was that all the corpses had their heads blown off. She saw none that didn't have a missing fragment of skull... It was as if the people who had done this were abiding by some sick rule.

Her breath hitched for a moment, and she stood motionless as she felt nausea build up in her stomach. She retched, sending harsh air out her helmet. Quickly and clumsily, she pulled off the helmet and let a stream of vomit gush from her mouth. Water and nutrient-paste flew from her, leaving in a river of disgusting, viscous fluid. Pain tinged at her throat as the lats of her expulsions ceased. A shudder ran up her back as she wiped at her lip.

"Who the hell could have done this?" She asked no one at all. Her voice was a tiny, horrified peep that was completely unlike Captain Mary Jackson.

She forced her eyes away from the mound of corpses and looked up. The mountains were tall and steep, but certainly not insurmountable. If it meant dying, she would get off this planet. She would not bear this... This... Atrocity any longer.

Doing her best to keep her mind away from the corpses, she began the treacherous climb upward. Her arms and legs scrabbled for holds as she pulled ever upward. She refused to look down and refused to look up, glancing only at the holds that would get her out of this horrific pit. One hand above the other, she climbed onward.

An hour passed and she reached the top. The corpses were well out of sight, and that was more than relief. It was _divine._ Mary let out a sigh of relief and looked into her storage compartment again. The flashlight was a no-go, she had lost it in the sea of corpses, and she would _not_ go looking for it. The signal device wouldn't work, there was a jammer somewhere on this planet and it would do no good to try to contact anyone. She rummaged further, and found an atmospheric scanner. Once more, she decided against it. The outer-space scanner had come up empty, and so would this one. With a frustrated sigh, she snapped the storage device closed and continued on. Why had she even came down on a damn pod in the first place? It had seemed so... Smart beforehand. Now she saw it as an unnecessary and stupid risk, one that had nearly cost her her life.

_You came down because I wanted you to, Mary._ An alien voice pulsed through her head, bringing a whole new wave of repulsion to her mind. Shuddering and jibbering with fear, she sat on the ground and waited for it to pass. It didn't.

A queer sensation of being watched came upon her, reducing her mind to a screaming dribble of fear. She looked around, her eyes flitting from place to place as she searched for the hideous eyes that watched her. A dull species of pain ran through her, and briefly, she heard imaginary warning bells as the sensation doubled. Her training and the rampant panic that screamed through her fought for dominance, one clearly stronger than the other.

Panic won.

* * *

The soldiers watched the monitor with worried expressions on their faces. The pod had crashed down hard, hard enough to vaporize the body within. They knew that going the same way as her would be suicide, so they opted for a new response. They boarded a blue-red shuttle, and flew down to the surface. They would find their CO even if it killed them.

Hannibal would make sure of it.

* * *

**How was it? Was it worth the wait? Or maybe this was so far from your list, that you just didn't give a crap when it was released. Negative or positive, give me your thoughts!**


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